


The Past That Stands Between Us

by EclecticMuse



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No SHIELD (Marvel), Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Daisy/Sousa, Doubt, Drama, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Manipulation, Mild Sexual Content, Miscommunication, Romance, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:02:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 90,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26726362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclecticMuse/pseuds/EclecticMuse
Summary: When Jemma Simmons meets famed scientist and inventor Leo Fitz at a trade conference in New York City, she thinks she's found the man of her dreams. A whirlwind romance and elopement ensues, but once she settles into her new home with Fitz in London, she realizes that not everything is as it appears. It seems that no one—not even Fitz—has let go of the memory of his beautiful, popular first wife, who died tragically in an accident just one year prior. As Jemma sinks deeper into a web of doubt and criticism, she begins to question her place in Fitz's life—and the secrets he's keeping from her. An AU of the classic novelRebecca.
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 554
Kudos: 205





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic has been a long time in coming! I started writing it in early February, but COVID lockdown and working from home put me off my usual writing routine. It sat mostly untouched for months but in the past month or so I put in some concerted effort to get it finished, and finally, here it is! As always, all of the thanks in the world go to my amazing beta and friend recoveringrabbit, who is patient with me, cheerleads me, listens to me wail about plot points and detail accuracy, and helps me whip everything into shape. All of this would not be possible without you! Thank you so much!
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys the story. I plan on updating weekly on Wednesdays.

Jemma Simmons considered herself to be a people person. She always enjoyed social gatherings, networking, and meeting new people. Being around others gave her energy. Tonight, however, was a decidedly different experience.

The air in the dim, crowded hotel bar she currently sat in was abuzz with chatter, threaded through with the sounds of clinking drink glasses and the wandering melody of a live jazz piano. Everyone around her clustered in groups at the bar or around tables or in booths, but Jemma sat alone staring down into the depths of her gin and tonic. It was only the first night of the annual Advances in Biotechnology Global Summit in New York City, and things were already looking grim.

It had started out well enough. Jemma had been a regular attendee of the conference ever since earning her doctorate and joining Bioworks, the research and development lab she worked for in London, but this was the first year she’d been asked to present. It was a huge honor as the conference was quite prestigious and well-regarded within her field, and Jemma had spent weeks preparing alongside her coworker and fellow biochemist, Kenneth Turgeon. 

The presentation itself had gone off without a hitch earlier that afternoon, and they’d been flooded with questions afterward. Jemma had been gobsmacked when _Leo Fitz_ of all people had approached them, but then Kenneth had monopolized the entire conversation, barely letting her get in a word edgewise. Her one opportunity to talk to a man of that caliber about her work had been dashed. Hence the moody drinking and keeping to herself at the evening mixer.

She could see him standing at a tall table a short distance across the room. Leo Fitz, that was, not Kenneth—who knew what _he_ was getting up to right now. Probably celebrating his success with his friends from Roxxon. Fitz, meanwhile, was surrounded by a throng of admirers, and Jemma wished she had the courage to go join them—but there was no way she would be able to get a word in there, either. Not with that many people jockeying for his attention.

Fitz, as he’d told them he liked to be called, was a brilliant inventor and businessman. A child prodigy who’d graduated with a double doctorate in mechanical engineering and physics from MIT at sixteen, he’d founded his own innovative tech company and was so successful he’d become both a minor celebrity and one of the richest men in Britain by the age of twenty-five. Everyone in the science world wanted to curry his favor, it seemed like; a contract with LJF Technologies could secure someone enough funding to see their project all the way through to completion. And the Summit was lucky to have him on as a keynote speaker—if Jemma recalled correctly, this was his first public speaking engagement since the untimely death of his wife a year or so ago.

She watched him over the rim of her glass as she took another sip of her gin and tonic. Fitz seemed to be doing a lot of listening rather than talking. She wondered if that was a common occurrence for him—though he’d had several insightful questions, Kenneth had certainly talked his ear off. Maybe that was part and parcel of being famous and admired, having to listen to everyone try to impress you. Jemma sighed and stared glumly down into her drink again. She supposed she was really no different in that regard. She’d fancied that if she could just get his attention for a moment, she could wow him with her detailed research on the potential applications of various neurotoxins. In reality, he would probably be bored by it. Biochemistry wasn’t his specialty, after all.

Two moody sips later, she swished the remnants of her drink around in the bottom of her glass and considered ordering another. It felt like a self-indulgent, two- or three-drink kind of night. She snuck another look at Fitz.

And sucked in a sharp breath when she found him looking right back at her.

She quickly shot her eyes back down to her drink, her cheeks burning at having been caught staring. Maybe it had been an accident. He’d just been scanning the room and she’d happened to look up as he glanced over her. That was all it was.

Jemma looked back up. _Shit_ , he was still watching her. This time when their eyes met, he gave her a small smile.

She smiled hesitantly back, unsure of what was going on, glancing around to make sure he wasn’t smiling at any of the people to either side of her. Fitz’s smile widened slightly, but then he looked away, back to one of his conversation mates. The smile lingered, however, and occasionally he would glance back at her, a small curve still ticking up the corners of his mouth.

Jemma took a healthy gulp of the last dregs of her gin and tonic, finding comfort in the burn of the alcohol down her throat. Was Leo Fitz making eyes at her across the bar? _Why_? She’d barely said more than three sentences to him after her presentation; Kenneth had seen to that with all of his bloviating chatter about their research. She’d been positive she barely registered on his radar.

Next to her, the couple that had been chatting over beers for some time pushed back their barstools and stood, preparing to leave. Movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention, and Jemma looked over to see Fitz excusing himself from the group gathered at his table. Then he started making his way toward her. Her eyes widened. Shit, shit, _shit_. 

She hastily turned her attention to the television mounted above the bar, acting like she was engrossed in whatever sports game was playing. A moment later a Scottish accent behind her asked, “Is this seat taken?”

“Oh!” Jemma looked around to find Fitz standing right at the recently-vacated stool next to her, and elected to pretend that she was surprised instead of being fully aware that he’d been staring at her from across the room. She smiled and indicated that he was welcome to take a seat. “No, go ahead.”

“Cheers.” He smiled back and eased himself onto the stool next to her, clasping his hands together on the bar. “Jemma Simmons, right?” Before she could reply, he grimaced slightly and added, “Of course it is. We met earlier.”

Jemma couldn’t help but smile, pleased that he remembered her name at least. “Right. And you’re Leo Fitz, of course.”

Fitz sighed and rolled his eyes, looking long-suffering. “Of course,” he grumbled. “Everyone always knows who I am.”

Her smile grew; his irritation was a little amusing. “I take it you don’t enjoy much anonymity, what with your successful company and all,” she ventured.

He shook his head. “Not a bit.” Then he pointed to her empty drink. “Do you want another? I’m going to order.”

“Oh,” Jemma said again, this time with a rush of warmth. He was doing alright so far, if his aim was to chat her up. “Yes please, thank you. I’ll take a gin and tonic.”

Fitz signaled for the bartender, and once they had their drinks—a whisky sour for Fitz—he shifted to face her with a serious look on his face. “I actually wanted to talk to you more about your presentation,” he said. “You didn’t get to say much when we were talking afterward.”

Jemma’s stomach did a funny little flip, a strange mixture of excitement and faint disappointment jolting through her. She was thrilled that he specifically wanted to talk to _her_ about her work, but she wouldn’t deny a little regret that he wasn’t actually chatting her up. Fitz was a good-looking man: average height, eyes that shone a brilliant blue when viewed up close, sandy curls, and short stubble that dusted his cheeks and jaw. And that was on top of him being wicked smart. But he was a recent widower, she reminded herself, so he probably wasn’t even looking.

“No, I didn’t,” she replied a little sheepishly, looking down at her drink. “Though I wanted to.”

“Is your partner always like that?” Fitz asked, grinning. “Kenneth, was that his name?”

Jemma laughed. So he’d definitely noticed Kenneth hogging the conversation, then. “Well…” she hedged, dragging the syllable out.

Fitz kept grinning as he took a sip of his whisky, his eyes sparkling with good humor. “You can be honest.”

“He’s usually not that bad,” Jemma ceded, drawing an aimless shape on the bar with one finger. “But he wanted to impress you. So he made it sound like he did most of the work.”

Fitz rolled his eyes again, but this time he was smiling ruefully. “That tends to happen a lot,” he said. “With me.” Then he grimaced again. “Christ, that sounds arrogant.”

“It’s not arrogant if it’s true,” she pointed out, and she had no doubt that it was. “Anyway, I would have wanted to impress you as well, so I’m not all that different from everyone else, am I?”

Taking another sip of his drink, Fitz laughed lightly. “But would you have talked about the work, or yourself?”

Jemma gave him her best smile. “I like to think I would have spoken about the work.”

Fitz nodded once. “Alright, then. Let’s talk about the work.”

She sat up straighter. “What did you know about neurotoxins before today?”

They fell into deep discussion about the various sorts of toxins she had researched and tested—in particular dendrotoxins, which Jemma felt could have a wide variety of applications for human use. Specifically, Fitz was interested in how they could potentially be used to create non-lethal weaponry, something he said his company was interested in pursuing.

“You’re not looking for a job, are you?” he joked.

“No,” Jemma replied, laughing into her drink. “I’m actually very happy where I am. Besides, my boss would be furious if I came back from this conference and told her Leo Fitz had seduced me away to work for him.”

She could swear Fitz’s cheeks flushed pink, but it was difficult to tell in the low lighting of the bar. “I would never,” he said with dignity. “I only steal people who are already in the market for a new job.”

“I’m teasing.” Jemma took another, longer sip of her gin and tonic, unable to stop smiling. It was so easy to talk to Fitz—she’d never spoken with anyone who was so open and receptive to her ideas before, not even her own boss, and it amazed her how seriously he took what she said and how attentive he was to her opinions. And it wasn’t in a predatory way, either; her gut instinct told her he wasn’t out to steal her ideas. He just enjoyed talking shop about science and tech. He’d told her about some of the ideas he wanted to put forth into development as well, and Jemma was amazed when he seemed to genuinely take her thoughts on them into consideration. He was a world-class inventor and scientist, and she was just a research biochemist; he wasn’t required to take her opinions on anything seriously.

Though it came as a surprise, how open and forthcoming Fitz was in his conversation. He had a reputation for being a bit of an eccentric, which Jemma could see in how passionate he got about his favorite subjects, but he’d also been a recluse for the past year as well, after the death of his wife. She remembered reading about it—it had been all over the news, a tragic hiking accident in Switzerland. All the reports said that Fitz had been devastated. Anyone who lost a spouse suddenly like that would grieve terribly, so Jemma thought that it was nice to see him finally out and about amongst people, socializing at the conference.

And… possibly hitting on her?

She was beginning to wonder if her initial assessment of Fitz’s intentions hadn’t been so far off the mark. Not that he was laying it on thick or anything, or that talking about science was a means to an end—no one who got that excited discussing the mechanics of micro-drones was intentionally looking to pick someone up—but there were cues.

The way he’d angled himself to face her fully on his seat, his arm propped up on the bar; the way his eyes had tracked over her at least once as she’d talked and lingered on her mouth. The way he smiled. The way he—only once, as if he didn’t even realize he’d done it—touched her arm as they spoke. Far from being creepy, it was actually somewhat thrilling. She’d thought him attractive, after all, and he was very interesting. And it had been a long time since she’d been on a date. 

But maybe she was misreading things. His wife _had_ died. Perhaps he just wanted a friend. What was the conventionally acceptable amount of time for one to grieve a significant other before they attempted to enter the dating pool again?

Jemma didn’t know. But she enjoyed the attention, regardless.

They continued to talk and nurse their drinks until they realized that the mixer crowd was thinning out and that the hour had grown quite late. If they didn’t want to absolutely drag arse in the morning, it was probably time to call it a night. 

Fitz kindly paid for her drinks and they left the bar together, heading for the hotel’s lobby. “So,” he said casually, hands in his trouser pockets, “are you coming to the keynote presentation tomorrow?”

Jemma smiled to herself. That was his presentation, the one all of the conference attendees were looking forward to seeing. “I was planning on it,” she replied as they came to a stop in front of the lifts. Fitz reached out and hit the call button.

“Good. That’s good.” He looked down, scuffing the toe of one of his expensive-looking leather shoes against the tile floor. “I’ll look forward to seeing you there. Hopefully I won’t muck it all up.”

Jemma laughed softly as the lift dinged and the doors opened with a soft swish. “I’m sure you’ll do fine,” she said, stepping inside at Fitz’s gesture to go ahead of him. She’d seen videos of other presentations he’d given and he always spoke well.

“Yeah, well, we’ll see. What floor are you?”

She looked over his shoulder at the rows of number buttons. “Thirty-two,” she replied.

“Ah. Same floor as me, fancy that.” He jammed his finger into the corresponding button and smiled back at her, and the lift shuddered into motion. They were both quiet as the car rose, but it wasn’t awkward. Rather, it felt more like the comfortable silence of old friends used to being in one another’s company.

When the lift arrived on their floor and they exited out into the hallway, Fitz moved to go in the opposite direction from her. “I’m this way,” he said, pointing. Then he smiled, a small uptick at the corners of his mouth. “It was nice talking to you, Jemma. Have a good night.”

Jemma smiled back. “You too, Fitz. Goodnight.” She turned to go down the hall toward her room, a light warmth settling in her chest. She felt like she really had gained a friend at the very least, and it was an unexpected yet very welcome turn of events at the conference. Her day might have started out miserably, but it had ended rather nicely.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning found Jemma and Kenneth walking as fast as they could without looking inappropriate through the hotel toward the conference area, out of breath and clutching paper cups full of hotel-grade tea. “I can’t believe you made us late!” Jemma hissed.

“It’s not my fault!” Kenneth shot back, dodging a porter pushing a cart laden down with luggage. “I didn’t hear my alarm go off!”

“It _is_ your fault,” Jemma insisted. The hallway leading to the main ballroom was in sight. “Maybe if you hadn’t had so much to drink last night, you wouldn’t have hit snooze so many times without realizing it. And now we’re going to be late for the keynote presentation.”

She’d promised Fitz she would attend, and she didn’t want to miss any of it. Not even just for him—any LJF Technologies presentation promised to be fun and engaging. But now her rotten coworker had put her off her carefully-planned schedule, and she was bristling.

“Oh, we are not,” Kenneth grumbled. He looked at his wristwatch. “We’ve got two minutes before it starts.”

“All the seats will be full,” Jemma complained. “We’ll have to stand.”

They arrived just as the conference director was introducing Fitz. Luckily, the room wasn’t completely full and they were able to snag some seats in the back row. It wasn’t ideal for Jemma at all, but it was better than the alternative. At least she was sitting down.

She shoved her bag down beneath her seat as Fitz walked onstage to loud applause, and she sat up straight and joined in. She felt a little nervous for him and hoped he would do well, a bit like a friend might. She’d gone to bed the night before feeling like they were slightly more than acquaintances, but seeing him on a stage in front of hundreds of people reminded her that they’d only just met, and that he was a well-known public figure. It was a strange mix of emotions.

Onstage, Fitz rolled his shoulders beneath the jacket of his tailored suit and clasped his hands together. “Hey everyone, thanks for coming,” he said, smiling as he looked out into the crowd. “I haven’t done one of these in a while, so bear with me if I’m a little rusty.” A light smattering of laughter rippled across the audience. “Today I want to tell you all about what we’ve got going on at LJF Technologies right now and how we plan on changing the world for the better…”

From there he delved into some of the ongoing long-term projects the company was currently developing, such as a set of remotely-operated forensic drones that could quickly and efficiently survey any type of scene, eliminating the need to put personnel in harm’s way. He also talked about what they had planned for the future, like the non-lethal weaponry he’d mentioned to her the night before, and how the cybernetics division was being reorganized to focus more on designing advanced prostheses and accessibility aids. It was a very exciting presentation, full of cutting-edge ideas and amazing concept designs—in short, everything people had come to expect from Fitz over the years. By the end of it Jemma was buzzing, full of new ideas for her own work. Everyone around her was whispering excitedly to their friends as they applauded the end of the presentation. Fitz just had that sort of effect on people.

“Anne would be out of her mind if she were here,” Kenneth muttered, referring to their boss back at Bioworks, as the attending crowd began to stand and disperse. “Damn. What I wouldn’t give to be contracted out to them. Did you see all that? It’s a dream.”

“I did,” Jemma replied, standing and shouldering her bag. “Do you really think they’d have positions for biochemists, though? They’re mostly focused on engineering.”

“They have to,” Kenneth said, inching toward the aisle, and she remembered how Fitz had asked if she was looking for a new job. “They’d need the expertise for those drones at the very least, and probably the non-lethal stuff, too. Maybe we can put a bug in Anne’s ear when we get back and see if they’re in the market for some contractors. She’d love it.” They were in the aisle now, and Kenneth blew out a breath as he looked around. “Right, I promised some of the guys from Roxxon I’d catch up with them. Text you later?”

Jemma nodded. “Sure,” she said, and watched him head for the back doors before turning to make her way to the front of the ballroom. Maybe Fitz wouldn’t mind if she stopped by to congratulate him on a job well done, even if she would have to wait a fair while to do it. The area directly in front of the stage was crowded with people all wanting to get a handshake or a word in. She came to a stop at the edge of the throng and settled in to wait, content to watch Fitz make his way through them.

He was still nodding at and engaging with everyone he spoke to, but Jemma thought she could see a bit of stiffness to his smile now, a hint of the man who had bemoaned his fame the night before. She felt she could sympathize, in a way; while she was very outgoing and had enjoyed answering questions after her presentation, she could understand how it might take a toll on someone less gregarious. She had a feeling Fitz was one of those people.

She thought she saw him look in her direction a few times, but she wasn’t positive until he finally stepped away from his last admirer and turned toward her with a bright, genuine smile lighting up his face. It made a world of difference on him. “I can’t believe you’ve stood here this whole time, waiting,” he said, crossing over to where she was standing by the front row of seats. “Surely you’ve got better things to do.”

Jemma shrugged lightly as she smiled in return. “I didn’t mind,” she replied. “I just wanted to congratulate you on an excellent presentation. It was really well done.”

An almost bashful expression creeped over Fitz’s face. “You think so? I can never really tell how I do at these things… people always clap regardless. And I went off my notes a bit and rambled.” He scratched at an eyebrow. “It’s a bad habit.”

“I couldn’t tell.” Jemma kept smiling in the hopes of reassuring him. “Everything sounded so impressive, you brought it off without a hitch.” Her smile turned teasing. “Don’t think I didn’t miss you mentioning those non-lethal weapons, though. I feel like I got a secret insider preview to LJF Tech’s newest and greatest last night.”

Fitz laughed. “Maybe,” he hedged. “I don’t think I gave away any _real_ secrets. It was just nice to have someone to talk to who could actually keep up.” 

“Oh.” Jemma flushed, pleased at what was ostensibly a compliment. “Don’t you only hire the best and the brightest?”

“We try to. But, um… it gets lonely sometimes, being a former child prodigy.” Fitz looked at his wristwatch, then at her. “It’s 11:30. Do you, ah… do you want to get something to eat—?”

“Jemma, there you are,” Kenneth huffed, appearing out of nowhere at her side. “I texted, did you not get them?”

“Oh,” Jemma said again, startled, and pulled her phone from her pocket. There were two texts from Kenneth and then one from Anne that appeared to be asking how the conference was going. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I must have missed my mobile buzzing.”

Kenneth shrugged. “Well, the Roxxon group wanted Japanese for lunch and I wasn’t really in the mood.” He looked over at Fitz. “Did I hear you say something about getting something to eat?”

There was a moment where Fitz looked at Jemma, hesitating, and she wondered if he’d wanted lunch to just be the two of them. That was an interesting thought. But then he nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I was just asking Jemma if she was hungry. The hotel restaurant is nice, and hopefully not too crowded. How’s that sound?”

As expected, Kenneth was absolutely delighted at the prospect of having lunch with famous Leo Fitz; he nodded eagerly, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Sounds great. Just lead the way.”

Fitz turned to Jemma with his eyebrows raised in question, and she simply smiled and nodded too, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “Right then,” he said. “Let’s go.”

True to his word, the hotel’s expansive restaurant wasn’t all that crowded—it seemed that most of the conference-goers were taking advantage of their prime Times Square location to check out local eateries. They snagged a table by the large floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the busy Square, with Fitz on one side and Kenneth and Jemma on the other. A waiter came by to take their drink orders as they picked up their menus to peruse them.

“So, are you enjoying the Summit so far?” Kenneth asked Fitz, leaning forward over his menu. “Is this your first time in New York?”

Jemma turned her head to her coworker with an almost embarrassed expression. Fitz was a Fortune Global 500 businessman; of _course_ it wasn’t his first time in the city. But Fitz just smiled, tapping one finger against his menu. “No, I’ve been here a time or two.”

Jemma bit her lip to hide a smile of her own. Kenneth nodded, charging blithely on. “Ah. Thought so. This is my first time, but Jemma’s been tons of times, she’s been coming to the Summit for years—”

Fitz glanced over at her. She gave him a look that plainly said _Jemma can speak for herself_ , and his smile widened slightly, an amused glint in his eyes.

That was how it went for the rest of lunch. Kenneth ruled the conversation just as he had the day before, leaving Jemma to focus mostly on her salad. It was irritating, barely being able to get a word in even despite Fitz’s best efforts (and she appreciated that, she really did), but he made up for it. The little looks he would shoot her while Kenneth was going on and on about the new equipment they had in their lab or their methodologies, the tiny rolls of his eyes and slight quirks of his lips, made her feel like they were sharing a private joke. Fitz really was a kindred spirit, she thought, if he was willing to suffer through lunch with Kenneth just to be around her.

After they’d finished their meals, paid, and were headed back for the lifts, Kenneth pulled out his phone to scroll through his calendar app. “Which panels are you going to hit up? I’m thinking about the one Franklin Hall is giving on the potential of newly-discovered elements in the field.”

Fitz looked over at Jemma as they all slowed to a stop outside the restaurant’s entrance, and their eyes met. “Oh, I was going to head up to my room,” Jemma said, still watching Fitz. “I wanted to grab my cardigan, I’ve been freezing all morning.”

“I’ve got a raging headache,” Fitz added, rubbing at his temple. “Presentations really take it out of me. Thought I might head up for a short nap.”

“Oh.” Kenneth looked disappointed at losing Fitz’s company. “Well, cool. Text me later if you see anything good, Jemma.” 

They watched him get on a lift, the doors shutting behind him, then started slowly ambling towards them again themselves. “So… what panel did you want to go see?” Fitz asked lightly.

A wave of relief washed through Jemma. She’d been certain they were on the same page when he’d looked at her, but now he’d confirmed it. A little spark of giddiness zipped down her spine, not unlike the thrill that might have come from sneaking around as a teenager. “The presentation on adaptive nanofibers,” she replied. “I think it’s down the hall from the main ballroom.”

Fitz grinned at her, a grin she was coming to recognize as one of his true, genuine smiles. “What a coincidence. That was on my to-see list as well. Fancy some company?”

Jemma smiled brightly back at him. “I thought you’d never ask.”

-:-

They made it downstairs to the main conference floor and their target panel room without running into Kenneth again, which was a blessing, and slipped into seats in the back of the room. Normally, Jemma liked to sit near the front in order to better see the panel’s accompanying slides and video and to ask questions if there was a Q&A session, but she could appreciate that Fitz might want to keep a low profile. Besides, it was kind of nice. Sitting in the back meant he could lean over and whisper observations to her throughout the panel without bothering anyone else.

She was still faintly amazed that Fitz wanted to talk to _her_ of all people—she supposed she was a bit starstruck, but in a different way than Kenneth. She was finding that Fitz was extremely down-to-earth, though, and not all up his own arse like some other high-profile scientists she’d met. He was still proving easy to talk to, and as he’d observed the night before, it was nice to have a good conversation partner—someone who was deeply intelligent and could also offer funny quips, too. His comments on the presenter’s colorful bowtie had her suppressing giggles behind her hand, trying desperately not to laugh out loud.

To her surprise, Fitz didn’t go his own way once the nanofibers panel was over. “What’ve you got next?” he asked, pushing his thumb into the palm of his other hand as they walked out into the hall amongst a flood of other attendees.

Jemma consulted her calendar app. “This is actually sort of a free hour for me. I wasn’t terribly keen on any of the panels in this block.” When she’d initially been planning for the conference, she’d considered taking the hour to make notes on her laptop in her room on the panels she’d already seen. Now, she decided to take a chance. “What about you?”

Fitz pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I was thinking about the panel on biorobotics. It looked really interesting.” He hesitated a moment. “Want to come?”

Once again, Jemma’s mind boggled. _He_ _wanted to spend time with her_. There was no other reason for him to ask her along to a panel that edged out of her area of expertise. He was interested in her. Even if it was just for the sole purpose of having a conference buddy—he appeared to be attending alone, and conferences were always better with a friend—he’d still chosen her. The part of her that was still starstruck didn’t know how to react.

“Sure,” she heard herself say. “It’s not quite within my field, but I’d never turn down the opportunity to learn something new.”

It was worth it to see Fitz’s face brighten. “Great. Brilliant.” He grinned. “I like a person who never wants to stop learning. Come on, I think the panel room is down the hall here.”

They spent the rest of the day like that. Fitz came with Jemma to the next panel she wanted to see, and then they switched up again, on and on until the last panel block of the day closed. They never saw Kenneth again, though Jemma did text him as requested about the panels she was attending. She didn’t tell him she was still with Fitz—she wasn’t above admitting to herself she didn’t want him butting in again—and if Kenneth thought some of her panel choices were out of character for her, he didn’t mention it. Overall, it was one of the better days she’d had attending a conference for work. Going outside of her box and attending panels she might not ordinarily have on her own was actually very interesting and fun, and Jemma felt like she’d learned a lot that she could take back to work with her. Fitz was still just as pleasant and witty as ever, and she was glad he’d chosen her for company for the day. She was rather coming to like him.

“So…” Fitz said as they left their last panel. “Dinner?”

Jemma’s heart did a little flip in her chest. “Oh,” she said, “I, well—” He wasn’t asking her out, was he? Surely not. “Don’t you have other people you’d like to see here? Important people?”

Fitz shook his head, and if she wasn’t mistaken he almost looked _shy_. “Not really. I mean, there’s people I _could_ go meet with, but—” He shook his head again. “I’m fine where I am. Unless _you_ don’t want—”

“No, no, I do,” she rushed to reassure him. “I do. I’d love to go for dinner. I just thought… well… nevermind.” She smiled. “Dinner, yes.”

Once again, Fitz’s face lit up at her agreeing to go with him, and Jemma had the faint thought that it should probably be her in awe instead. (She _was_ in awe, she was just doing a better job of hiding it.) “Right,” he said. “How do you feel about pizza?”

Jemma wrinkled her nose. “I usually try to eat healthy…”

Fitz groaned. “Jemma! You’re in New York. You have to have pizza.” When she just stared at him, he added, “Kenneth said you’ve been coming to this summit for a few years, yeah? You mean to tell me you’ve not once gone for pizza?”

“Never,” Jemma replied, and laughed at his horrified expression.

“You’ve _got_ to go for pizza with me,” he insisted. “Please? You can’t come to New York and not try the pizza. I’m pretty sure it’s illegal.”

She laughed again. “Alright, fine, you don’t have to twist my arm. So, are we going someplace posh?”

It was Fitz’s turn to laugh. “Not in the slightest.”

He took her to a tiny by-the-slice shop a short walk down Broadway from their hotel, which proclaimed itself to have the best pizza in New York. Fitz immediately asked for two slices of supreme, while Jemma deliberated over her choices for a minute or two before going with two slices of white with spinach. She was a little surprised when he let her pay for her own food; she’d always surmised that people with money liked to flaunt it, even in negligible instances like this. But he hadn’t, which she really appreciated, and she thought that maybe she needed to stop thinking of him as being so high and lofty just because he was extremely rich and successful. After all, he _had_ brought her to a dive. Not that she was complaining—the pizza was delicious, just as promised, and the company was very good.

“So tell me about _you_ ,” Fitz said, holding up one of his slices with delicate fingers. Engineer’s fingers, Jemma thought, tinkerer’s fingers. “I already know you’re a brilliant scientist and very funny. Now I’d like to know more about you.”

She swallowed a sip of her water and smiled, pleased that he thought she was witty. “I’m glad you think I’m funny,” she replied. “Someone will have to tell my coworkers that. But, let’s see… well, I went through school rather quickly—not as fast as you, obviously,” she added when Fitz’s eyebrows went up in interest. “I only got my doctorate from Cambridge a few years ago. But it was enough to set me apart a bit socially.”

“Mmhmm,” Fitz hummed sagely, chewing a bite of his food.

“But that’s mostly job-related, too.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve got two older brothers; one followed my parents into their veterinary practice and the other’s a teacher. They’re all up in Sheffield still, where I’m originally from.” Fitz nodded. “I really used to be into astronomy as a hobby when I was a little girl—I had a telescope I’d take out into the back garden to look through and make observations in my notebooks. It was the first time I fancied myself a scientist.” She smiled. “What else… well, you know I work in London, but I live in Brixton with my best friend Daisy, who works in cybersecurity. We couldn’t be more different, but we get along really well.” Jemma took another sip of her water and shrugged. “There’s really not a lot to tell. I don’t feel like I’m very interesting, to be honest. Between school and my job, I haven’t had much time for anything else.”

“No?” Fitz set his half-eaten pizza slice down and picked at the label on his bottle of cream soda. “No significant other or anything like that?”

Jemma tried her best not to blush or smile, but she was unsuccessful because _Leo Fitz_ was asking her if she was in a relationship and it was extremely flattering. “No,” she replied, then bit her lip. “I can’t seem to keep a boyfriend. They all say my intelligence is too intimidating.”

Fitz rolled his eyes. “Their loss,” he murmured, and took a long swig from his soda bottle.

Still feeling very warm—surely that was a compliment—Jemma took a bite of her pizza, then turned back to him. “So what about you?” she asked once she’d swallowed. “What’s there to know about you?”

“You mean anything that hasn’t already been published in the papers five times over?” Fitz asked dryly.

She shook her head. “I don’t really keep up with gossip or the tabloids. I mean, I know your name and your work and that everyone knows who you are, but that’s it, really.”

“Huh.” He gave her a considering look. “Well, everyone knows how I started—child prodigy, undergrad at MIT before everyone else my age started secondary, blah blah blah—you don’t want to hear about that.” She did, but Jemma let it slide. Fitz sighed. “I’m an only child. My mum still lives in Glasgow and she sends me the most naff knitted jumpers every Christmas, but I love them. The first thing I ever built was a new electric kettle for her from scraps I scrounged up. It was a mess. Um, I really want a dog. Don’t know why I haven’t got one yet. I have a terrible junk food habit. I feel like we’d be at odds, there.” Jemma laughed, nodding. “Oh, and I love horror films.”

“You’re on your own with those,” Jemma said, giving an exaggerated shudder.

Fitz grinned. “Oh, am I?” His eyes were sparkling with good humor.

“Yes,” she teased him. “I scare too easily. Daisy tried to get me to watch _Paranormal Activity_ with her once and I couldn’t make it through.”

“That one’s not even that bad!” Fitz laughed. “I was barely scared at all.”

“Eat your pizza,” Jemma told him primly, pretending to turn away and ignore him.

They kept it up, sharing stories and joking and laughing, as they finished their pizza and nursed their drinks. By the time they left the shop an hour and a half later, Jemma felt like she had a true appreciation of Fitz as a real person, and now considered him an actual friend. They talked so much about so many different things, from favorite films and television shows and music to their favorite courses in school and what growing up set apart from their peers had been like. Fitz did not, Jemma noted, ever once mention his late wife, but she couldn’t fault him for that. Everyone grieved differently, and if he kept it private or simply wanted to move on with his life, that was his own business.

Even if that business looked like taking a decided interest in her. Jemma wouldn’t deny that it was exciting, to possibly have the eye of a very interesting, successful, good-looking man. Something was happening between them, she knew that much. She just didn’t know exactly what that something was yet.

Back at the hotel, they rode up the lift to their floor together, where Fitz paused at the split in the hallway. “Thanks for coming out to dinner with me,” he said, then inhaled. “Do you want to trade numbers? Just—I don’t know if I’ll see you tomorrow, and I’d—well, I’d love to get your thoughts on the panels you go to.”

It was a rather transparent excuse to ask for a girl’s number, but Jemma found she couldn’t really fault him for that, either. She wanted his number anyway; she’d just been too hesitant to ask. Problem solved, then.

“Of course,” she told him warmly. “Here, switch.”

She traded her phone for his and they each stood silently for a moment while they entered their numbers into the other’s phone. Once she’d set hers in his contact list, she waited until he was done before passing his phone back over. Fitz tapped at his screen, then smiled when her phone buzzed. Jemma looked down to see that a lone smiley face had popped up in her notifications from him.

“Good, it worked,” he said. “Right, so, I’ll text you if I don’t see you around, yeah?” When she nodded, he smiled again. “Have a good night, Jemma.”

“You too, Fitz,” she said, and smiled as she watched him head down the hall toward his room. Then she turned to walk to her own, feeling like her nerves were pleasantly buzzing. Something was definitely happening, and whatever it was, she couldn’t wait to find out what would happen next. 


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning as Jemma finished getting ready for the day, she gave the little coffee maker sitting on her hotel room dresser a baleful look. The hotel provided little sachets of tea that she could make herself a cuppa with, but she wasn’t partial to the American brand they used at all and had only gulped some down the prior morning out of desperation. 

She’d always resigned herself to it in previous years at the conference, but didn’t feel in the mood today; thus, her options were limited. She could go down to the Starbucks in the lobby and order tea there, but she wasn’t particularly fond of theirs, either, and would only drink it in the most dire of circumstances. Or she could go out into the city and brave her chances; checking the time, she saw she had plenty left before the first block of panels started. But there was yet another option…

She stared at her phone, lying innocently on the bedside table, for a full minute before going over to pick it up and tap into her texting app. Opening a message to Fitz, she took a deep breath.

_[Jemma]: Would you happen to know where a girl can get a decent cup of tea in Times Square?_

She hit the ‘send’ button and exhaled, staring as the little bubble with her text popped up on the screen below the smiley face Fitz had sent the night before. Then she waited.

And waited.

This was pointless. He might be busy, he might have already gone out for breakfast, he might not see her text for hours. He might not reply at all. She doubted that last one—he’d been the one to ask for her number, after all, but she was wary of creating expectations. She didn’t quite know what was happening between them and couldn’t assume he would jump at the sound of a message from her. She didn’t need to wait on him. She set her phone down on the table and turned to go to the bathroom to brush her teeth. 

Her phone buzzed, the vibration creating a harsh noise against the wood grain of the table. Jemma whipped back around and dove for the phone, eagerly scrambling to see what Fitz had said.

_[Fitz]: actually no. I always bring my own tea on trips because it’s rubbish here_

As she read, a second text appeared.

_[Fitz]: you can come over for a cup if you want_

A little zing of excitement zipped down her spine. An invitation! She hadn’t been sure if she’d be able to see him today due to their schedules. After she’d enjoyed spending time with him so much the day before, this was a boon. And a proper cuppa was irresistible. Smiling, she tapped at her phone.

_[Jemma]: That sounds lovely, thank you_

A reply came back almost immediately.

_[Fitz]: I’m in 3227_

Her smile widened; then she set her phone back down to go brush her teeth like she’d planned. Once she was done and had gone around the room making sure she had everything she needed for the day—her bag, her cardigan, her room key, a portable charger for her phone, the day’s conference schedule—she left to walk down the hall to Fitz’s room. It really was very convenient, them being on the same floor. Not that a lift ride would have hurt, but—yes, it was just convenient. It meant there was less time for nervous butterflies to gather in her stomach. Being invited to his hotel room felt a bit like going to his house, private and intimate, which was silly because she’d been by Kenneth’s room plenty of times and felt nothing… but she didn’t _like_ Kenneth, either.

Fitz was a friend now, but yes, she was willing to admit she had a little bit of a crush, too. She thought he might reciprocate but she didn’t really think anything would come of it; they led very different lives and this was just one weekend away from home. Still, it was nice to entertain the notion of a fun flirtation as she watched the numbers on the doors she passed climb, counting up to 3227. 

When she reached it, Jemma smoothed a hand over her blouse and straightened her cardigan before knocking on the door. After a pause, she heard footsteps approaching. Then the doorknob turned and there was Fitz, dressed smartly in a suit and tie sans jacket, smiling at her.

“Hey!” he said, beckoning her in. “I’ve already started brewing you a cup, so you can just add milk and sugar as you like.” He turned to lead her inside, and Jemma smiled to herself as she took the room in. It was the same layout she had—bathroom right next to the entrance, with a dresser, desk, and armchair adjacent to the king-size bed facing a wall of windows overlooking the city. His suitcase was open at the foot of the bed and his suit jacket was flung over the back of the desk chair.

“I’m surprised they didn’t give you an upgraded suite,” she said, drifting toward the windows to take in the overhead view of Times Square. “Since you’re the keynote speaker and all.”

Fitz glanced over at her from where he’d stopped at the mirror to fiddle with the knot on his tie. “I think this _does_ count as upgraded, with it looking out at Times Square.” He nodded at her and the windows. “They asked if I wanted a suite—I guess they figured I expected one—but I told them this was fine. Anything more seemed like a waste for just one person.”

Seeing his faint grimace, Jemma recalled him telling her at dinner the night before how he’d grown up poor with just his single mum for family. It seemed that even though he was wealthy now, old habits died hard. Her heart softened. “It is a bit of a waste,” she agreed, and folded her hands in front of her. “Tea?”

“Oh! Right—” Fitz abandoned his tie and pointed to the dresser, where Jemma was amused to see a little electric kettle plugged into an outlet. Next to it was one of the paper cups that came standard with the room’s coffee maker. “I’ve got you a cup here, bag already in. Feel free to use any of the creamer and sugar next to the coffee.” He gave her an apologetic look. “Sorry I can’t supply proper milk, I just brought the tea.”

Jemma grinned, fully amused now. “Oh, don’t be sorry—I can’t believe you brought a _kettle_.” She picked up the cup, taking in the bag that was steeping in it, and poked at it with the little plastic stirring straw he’d left in. Then she looked to the assortment of condiments stacked next to the coffee maker and rifled through them for the creamer.

“Why not?” Fitz watched her throw away the tea bag with his hands on his hips. “I don’t trust these pithy little machines the hotels have. I’d rather trust the water will heat to the right temperature, and I can make as much as I want.” Seeing the amused gleam in her eye, he said, “You’re laughing at me.”

“I’m not.” Jemma lifted the cup to her lips to take a test sip, still smiling around the rim. “It’s very kind of you to offer me some of your tea. It’s delicious. What kind did you say it was—?” She looked around and saw a box of Twinings next to the kettle. “Ooh, Twinings,” she cooed, turning back to him. “How posh.”

The teasing was worth it to see Fitz’s cheeks flush. “It’s not posh,” he muttered. “It’s _nice_.”

Her smile widened. He might not like wasting other people’s money on expensive hotel suites, but he wasn’t above indulging in some luxuries on his own. “It _is_ nice. I’ve got a box at home that I keep for special occasions. But it’s just that—special. I can’t drink it all the time. It’s posh.”

“It’s _nice_ ,” Fitz insisted, walking over to the desk. Jemma watched him shrug his jacket on, privately admiring the way the cut of the fabric accented the line of his shoulders. He slipped on his wristwatch and stuffed his wallet into his trouser pocket before looking back up at her. “Have you had breakfast yet?” he asked. Then his face twisted. “Are you even a breakfast person at all?”

Jemma nodded. He was a bit awkward sometimes around her, saying something and then backtracking like he thought he’d said the wrong thing or was imposing. She found it rather charming. “I do like breakfast,” she replied. “And no, I haven’t had any yet.”

“Ah.” Fitz brightened a little. “I was thinking of hitting up the buffet downstairs, do you want to come?”

In return Jemma lit up, another smile breaking over her face. “That would be nice, yes. Thank you.” She’d leap at the chance to spend more time talking to him before they went their separate ways for the day. That little nervous flutter in her stomach, the one that made her feel like a giddy teenager with her crush, intensified.

Fitz beamed. “Great. Ready to go? I’m starving.”

“Oh—just one second.” Jemma looked around for a lid for her paper cup and, once she spotted it next to the coffee maker, snapped it on. “There we go. Now I’m ready.” She smiled, satisfied. “I’ll follow you.”

They chatted easily about their plans for the day as they walked to the lift, all the way down to the eighth floor where the buffet restaurant was located. But if Jemma had thought she would have Fitz to herself for breakfast, she was sorely mistaken.

“Fitz!” called a paunchy older man as they entered the restaurant, striding over to them from the host’s stand. “Good morning, how are you?”

“Morning, Don,” Fitz replied mildly, picking up a tray and a plate from the stacks at the end of the buffet. “I’m good, you?”

Don slipped between Fitz and Jemma to pick up a tray and a plate for himself, then took a step back to survey the buffet offerings. “Great, great. Look, I was wanting to ask you some questions about the proposal I sent in—”

Fitz made a distressed noise. “Don, it’s barely eight in the morning, and I haven’t even had my tea yet. Can the work talk wait until after breakfast, maybe?”

Jemma, who was privately amused that Fitz was lying about his tea, thought Don might be insulted by Fitz’s brush-off, but the other man just laughed. “Yeah, yeah, I hear you. I’m not alive until I have two cups of coffee myself.” He chortled again as he tapped his hand against the underside of his tray. “I’m gonna go grab some pancakes. See you around!”

He walked away down the buffet line without ever acknowledging Jemma, and she watched as Fitz grabbed a serving spoon to dig into the scrambled eggs, piling them onto his plate. “Bloody busybody,” he muttered to no one in particular. Then he glanced over at her. “He’s been trying for years to get me to look at this proposal of his for an automated manufacturing drill, but it’s a disaster. He’s mad if he thinks it’ll ever work. If the company took it on, we’d waste resources and time trying to correct all the errors in the schematics.” He sighed. “But he’s persistent.”

Jemma smiled as she took the spoon from him and added some eggs to her own plate. “I take it he’s not your favorite, then.”

“No.” Fitz huffed as he moved over to the sausages. “He’s one of the—”

“Fitz!” 

Both Jemma and Fitz looked over to see an attractive, blonde, middle-aged woman approaching, holding a tray with a plate loaded down with fruit and a lone muffin. “It’s so good to see you,” she said, smiling. “How’ve you been?”

“Oh—I’m good, yeah, I’m doing alright,” Fitz replied, adding another sausage to his plate. “Beth, right?”

The woman—Beth—nodded, her smile bright. “That’s me. I just wanted to say, everyone from EnviroCore was so glad to see you present yesterday. It’s been such a long time since you’ve been out on the circuit.”

Fitz looked down at the buffet, and Jemma saw the line of his jaw go a little tight. She knew why he’d been away— _everyone_ knew why. It was an unspoken thing: he’d been grieving for his wife. Jemma felt a pang of sympathy for him, but mostly she was just glad that Beth had enough tact not to outright mention it.

“Yeah, it’s been awhile.” Fitz turned back to the other women with a faint smile. “But it’s good to be back. I’ve missed it.”

“I know we’re all happy to have you,” Beth said. “Do you have breakfast plans?”

Fitz’s forehead pinched. “Um—yes, actually,” he replied, and nodded at Jemma. Beth blinked at her as if she was just recognizing her presence.

“Oh, I see,” she said. “Well, some other time, then. I’ll see you later at the panels.” She smiled at Fitz before turning to head for the bank of coffee and tea machines.

“Arse-kisser,” Fitz mumbled.

Jemma bit back a smile as she walked around him to pick up the tongs for the sliced fruit medley. “Do you actually like people?” she asked.

“Some.” Fitz leapfrogged her to head for the baked goods. “I like you.”

She laughed quietly to herself as she turned to follow him, even as the butterflies in her stomach surged in joy.

They managed to make it all the way to the drinks bar, where Fitz was pouring himself some orange juice, before they were interrupted again. “Well, if it isn’t the big star of the conference,” a voice said just as a young man in a dark suit sidled up to Fitz, carrying a cup of coffee and a plate heaped with food. “How’s it going?”

“Brilliant,” Fitz replied dryly, picking up his glass of juice to set on his tray. He looked to Jemma to see if she was finished with the buffet and when she nodded at him, he turned to walk toward the dining area. She followed, and so did the young man, who skipped once to keep pace with Fitz. 

“Your presentation yesterday was fascinating,” he said. When Fitz just smiled and nodded in thanks, he added, “So what’s on your schedule for today? Any insider tips on what we should be keeping our eyes on in the industry?”

Fitz sighed as he stopped next to an empty table and set his tray down. The young man followed suit, setting his food down across from Fitz. Fitz stared for a second before giving Jemma an apologetic look, then sat down. “You know a good inventor never reveals all his secrets,” he said as Jemma sat next to their intruder. “Have you met Jemma?”

He gestured in her direction, and the other man looked at her like he was genuinely surprised to see they had a third. Jemma only just kept herself from rolling her eyes; this was becoming a pattern. Instead, she gave him a warm smile and held out her hand to shake, thankful that Fitz at least was recognizing her. “Hi. Doctor Jemma Simmons, Bioworks.”

The man gave her the briefest of limp handshakes. “Alan Nathanson. I’m with SHIELDTech.” He turned back to Fitz. “Are you going to the Roxxon panel on bioelectronics at one o’clock? It sounds amazing, we’d love to get our hands on that sort of stuff…”

Jemma sighed quietly, fighting the urge to wipe her hand on her napkin—there was just something about weak handshakes that made her feel slimy—and tucked into her breakfast. She wondered if people constantly vying for his attention all the time was just part and parcel of Fitz’s life, and if he ever got any peace. To his credit, Fitz did his best to include her in the conversation, but Alan was rather single-minded. It was very reminiscent of their lunch with Kenneth the day before. The little looks Fitz shot her from time to time helped to keep her mood up, at least.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, Kenneth showed up at their table a few minutes later carrying a plate loaded down with pastries. “Hey, Jemma,” he said. “Did you get my texts?”

“Oh, no, sorry,” she replied, setting her fork down to pull her phone from her pocket and check it. “I thought you were going out with the Roxxon group this morning.” 

“I think I missed them, but—” Kenneth shrugged. “So it goes at these things.” He looked between her and Fitz, a bit of an odd look on his face, then set his plate down and took the empty seat next to Fitz. “Hope you don’t mind me joining you.”

“Not at all,” Fitz said, shooting Jemma another look. “The more, the merrier. Kenneth, this is Alan Nathanson from SHIELDTech.”

Kenneth and Alan quickly fell into deep conversation, even forgetting Fitz in their rush to talk about the latest and greatest topics of note to come out of the conference. Sensing an opportunity, Jemma swallowed a bite of melon and picked up her phone to type out a text to Fitz.

_[Jemma]: These two would talk all day if we let them, wouldn’t they?_

She watched as Fitz started at the buzz of his phone and took it out. A deep sense of gratification spread through her as a grin came over his face, and she hid a smile of her own behind her tea as he tapped at his phone.

_[Fitz]: better them than me. now I can eat my damn food_

He set his phone down on the table next to his plate and met her eyes across the table as he picked his fork back up. Mirth danced across his face, and Jemma let her own merry humor shine through for him. Once again she felt like they were sharing a joke that only the two of them were in on, and it made her feel special, light and airy and happy.

When they finished eating, Alan thankfully took his leave to go meet up with his colleagues from SHIELDTech. Fitz stretched a little, adjusting his suit jacket over his shoulders, and said, “So what are we going to first?”

“We?” Jemma asked, surprised, at the same time Kenneth said, “Oh, you’re coming with us?”

Fitz shrugged, looking down as he toed one foot at the carpet. “I’m here to learn new things and scope out fresh ideas. Spending half a day at bio-oriented panels doesn’t seem like a bad idea.”

Jemma was thrilled, but she couldn’t help but say, “I thought for sure you’d want to go to Cybertek’s panel on cybernetic enhancements. Doesn’t your company have some stock in that?”

“Not anymore, not soon,” Fitz replied, still looking at his shoes. “We’re reorganizing that division and shifting the focus from for-profit cosmetic enhancements to accessibility aids.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Jemma said softly. “You mentioned that in your presentation.”

“That I did.” Fitz looked up and clasped his hands together in front of him. “So what’s interesting today?”

He ended up following them to a panel on the benefits of chemical engineering in reducing environmental footprints, which Jemma’s boss had asked them to attend. Fitz sat in between Jemma and Kenneth, much to Kenneth’s delight, though Fitz saved his witty panel commentary for Jemma alone—much to _her_ delight. It was a wonderful way to spend her morning. Attending panels with Fitz was an exciting new way to view her industry: he was so full of brilliant insight and thoughts, and they got on so well together. She wished she’d met him years ago and could’ve run into him at every conference she attended for work. They would have been so much more fun with him sitting next to her.

Fitz stayed with them until noon, when he announced he had prior plans to meet up with the conference heads. “Power lunch,” he told Jemma. “I have to schmooze and rub elbows. You know how it is.”

She did understand. She hadn’t gotten as far as she had being a woman in a STEM field without knowing how to work the system to her advantage. And that involved a _lot_ of networking and making nice with people, men especially, in better positions than hers. Even people as well-connected and regarded as Fitz needed to play the game to stay on top.

“Try not to have too much fun,” she teased him. They’d only just met, but Jemma felt she knew Fitz well enough already to know that a business lunch was one of the last places he’d want to be.

Sure enough, he pulled a comically sour face. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. “Loads of fun.” Then he sighed, straightened his suit jacket, and put on a smile. “I’ll see you later, hopefully.” This was directed at both her and Kenneth, but he said his last to Jemma alone. “Text me if you see something interesting, yeah?”

Jemma nodded and smiled back as he turned to walk away toward the hotel’s lobby. Kenneth watched him go for a minute, then gave her an appraising look. “So you two are spending an awful lot of time together,” he said.

She blinked up at him, feeling like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. “What? No we’re not.”

Kenneth didn’t look fooled. “Yes, you are. There was yesterday and then I found you eating breakfast together today, and he just sat through three panels with us on the Biochem track and he runs an engineering firm. And now he’s got you texting him? What’s going on?”

 _I wish I knew_ , Jemma thought, the butterflies that had taken up permanent residence in her stomach swooping excitedly. But she couldn’t admit to her colleague that she was maybe possibly having a weekend flirtation with one of Britain’s richest men. Kenneth was a notorious gossip. Their whole lab would know about it—if he wasn’t already texting them.

So instead of confessing the truth, she shrugged one shoulder as innocently as he could. “Chemical engineering is an entire field of its own, and it goes hand-in-hand with biology,” she said. “It’s possible he’s just looking to expand his company more into biotech like he did with cybernetics. And we’re all friends now! You know it’s easier to get through these things with friends.”

“Right,” Kenneth said slowly, looking unconvinced. He shook his head once. “Anyway, lunch? I’m starving.”

The rest of the day passed in a bit of a blur for Jemma. She and Kenneth checked off all the panels their boss wanted them to attend, and she made sure to take notes on the highlights so she could put together a concise brief on the full conference when it was over. Fitz texted her a few times with observations on the panels he was attending—one on the latest advancements in robotics and another on the theoretical applications of nanofibers in protective wear—but she didn’t see him at all during the afternoon.

She was surprised at how much she missed him; she’d gotten used to his commentary, his insightful thoughts and funny remarks. But she couldn’t expect to have a monopoly on Fitz’s time, no matter how much he seemed to enjoy spending time with her. Whatever it was that was happening between them, he doubtlessly still had his own job to attend to and a list of things he wanted to make sure to see at the conference.

At the end of the day, Jemma and Kenneth were standing outside of their last panel room deliberating what to do for dinner when she received another text from Fitz.

_[Fitz]: fancy dinner?_

Her heart leapt. That was… well, not subtle. Not that she really wanted him to be. As eager as she was to accept, however, she couldn’t leave Kenneth in the lurch. She quickly texted a reply.

_[Jemma]: I would love to, but I’ve got Kenneth with me. We’re trying to decide on dinner right now_

She was expecting Fitz to leave it at that and let her be, but his next text surprised her.

_[Fitz]: Kenneth can come too. I’ve got to go meet with the Roxxon heads for dinner and I’d love some company. he’s friends with that group, right?_

Kenneth _was_ friendly with some of the chemists and lab techs from Roxxon, but he certainly didn’t know the CEO or the board of directors. Jemma felt she could leave that out, though. He wouldn’t mind rubbing elbows with the bigwigs.

“Fitz has invited us to dinner,” she said, looking up at Kenneth. “He’s going out with the heads of Roxxon and asked if we’d like to come along.”

Kenneth gave her a shrewd look. “You mean he invited _you_.”

Jemma was almost offended at what he was insinuating. “No! Really, he invited both of us.” She held out her phone for him to see. “You can look if you like.”

He waved her hand away. “No, no, I believe you. Where are they going?”

“Let me ask.” She looked back down at her phone.

_[Jemma]: Kenneth would like to know where you’re planning to eat_

Fitz’s reply came almost immediately.

_[Fitz]: Italian, I think_

“He says Italian,” Jemma informed Kenneth.

“Great,” he replied, rubbing his hands together. “Tell him we’ll go.”

Jemma smiled to herself as she tapped out another text. She was faintly disappointed it wouldn’t just be the three of them and fully expected it to be a meal crowded with people taking up Fitz’s attention, but at least she’d be able to see him. Maybe he’d even shoot her more of those little commiserating looks that made her want to laugh.

_[Jemma]: We’re in. Where should we meet you?_

_[Fitz]: we’re meeting up in the lobby outside the Starbucks_

_[Jemma]: We’ll see you there in a few minutes_

“Alright,” she told Kenneth, slipping her phone into her bag. “Come on, we’re meeting him in the lobby.”

Fitz was already there when Jemma and Kenneth exited the lift from the conference level, standing by the Starbucks as promised and talking to a few men in suits. He noticed them as they approached and his face lit up. “Hey,” he said, holding out his arm to bring them into the group. “This is Jemma Simmons and Kenneth Turgeon with Bioworks. They’ll be joining us for dinner.”

One of the men smiled warmly at them. “Richard Davies, CEO of Roxxon,” he said, holding out his hand for a hearty shake. Then he nodded at the man next to him, who also held out his hand. “And this is the head of my biochem division, Charles Humphreys. Fitz here says you know some of our staff?”

“I do, yeah,” Kenneth replied as handshakes were traded, utterly unfazed by speaking to the head of the largest research lab in Britain. “Chris White and Michelle Pritchard, we all know each other pretty well. We see each other a lot at these things.”

“Yes, yes of course, they’re here. We just saw them heading out for dinner.” Richard turned to Jemma. “And you gave the presentation on neurotoxins?”

Jemma smiled, privately pleased that she wasn’t being overlooked for once—or that Fitz had already made special mention of her, most likely. Either way, she was thankful. “I did, with Kenneth,” she replied. “Did you attend?”

“No, but now I wish I had.” Richard jerked a thumb at Fitz while next to him, Charles smiled and shook his head. “He said it was groundbreaking. And you know we at Roxxon like to stay on the leading edge of biotech.”

Jemma flushed, exchanging a look with Kenneth; they both turned back to Richard as one. “I don’t know if I would call it _groundbreaking_ ,” Jemma demurred, at the same time Kenneth said, “Absolutely. It’s going to revolutionize the field of paralytics.” Then they looked at each other again, realized they’d contradicted themselves, and everyone broke out laughing.

“Give yourself some credit, Jemma,” Fitz said with a smile. “Your work is brilliant. It’s going to change lives.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, feeling warm all over. She’d played humble so as not to appear overly arrogant in front of the Roxxon execs—Kenneth had taken care of that for her, she supposed—but Fitz’s praise meant a lot.

Still full of good humor, Richard appeared to see something over her shoulder and his grin widened. “Ah, there’s Ronald and Cynthia.” Jemma turned to see an older man and woman walking toward them, deep in conversation. “Time for dinner, then?”

The Italian that Fitz had mentioned turned out to be a rather upscale restaurant a block off Times Square. It was probably well within his and the Roxxon group’s pay range, but Jemma felt a twinge of guilt for her pocketbook as they went inside, though she tried to shrug it off. She was entitled to at least one nice sit-down meal per conference. 

They were all shown to a large table in the back of the restaurant, and Jemma was absolutely charmed (and secretly delighted) when Fitz pulled out a chair for her. The chivalry wasn’t necessary, but it was very appreciated. Kenneth sat on Fitz’s other side, next to Charles, with the rest of the Roxxon group facing them. Jemma gulped again when she saw the prices on the menu, but she took a deep breath. _Treat yourself_ , she thought. _You’re in New York City and you’re worth it_.

She decided to order a pasta dish that wasn’t outrageously expensive but could still be considered an indulgence, and a nice glass of wine to go with it. She found she wasn’t very surprised when Fitz sprang for lobster spaghetti. Any man who drank Twinings on a daily basis likely had no qualms paying top dollar for fine dining.

Just as she expected, most of the dinner conversation revolved around the inner workings of running a business, but Jemma was pleasantly surprised at how well she was able to hold her own when the topic meandered into subjects such as what Roxxon currently had going in their labs. She wasn’t as well-versed in LJF Tech’s engineering focus, though Fitz brought up his plans to get into non-lethal weaponry and joked that he wished he had her on his team due to her and Kenneth’s work with neurotoxins. That got a laugh out of everyone, especially Kenneth, who asked if Fitz was looking to hire.

Everyone was in good spirits as they walked back to the hotel, and as they all entered the lobby from the street, Fitz reached out to touch her elbow. “Want to go to the bar for a drink?” he asked.

Jemma looked over at Kenneth as they walked. He was deep in conversation with Charles Humphreys and showed no signs of coming up for air. Satisfied that he’d be fine if she left him to it, she smiled at Fitz. “I’d love to,” she replied. “Are any of the others coming, or…?”

Fitz shook his head, glancing at Richard, who was heading off with the other two Roxxon execs they’d had dinner with. Then he gave her a smile in return that was borderline shy. “No, it’s just us. If that’s alright?”

The butterflies surged. Jemma nodded, hoping she didn’t look _too_ eager. “It’s perfect.”

Fitz placed a light hand at the small of her back when they got on the lift, which sent sparks shooting through her limbs, and he paid for her cocktail at the bar, which made it feel a little more special. Then he stayed close as they made their way outside to the bar’s outdoor terrace overlooking Broadway and Times Square.

“Not such a bad way to spend the last night of the conference, is it?” he asked as they claimed an empty spot on one of the terrace’s many sofas. 

Jemma smiled happily as she got settled and looked around; the sun had set but the terrace was well-lit by the bright lights of the Square’s numerous signs and billboards, and even though it was crowded with people their sofa gave them the illusion of intimacy. “Not bad at all,” she agreed, and lifted her glass to Fitz in a salute. “Nice drink, good company… I could think of worse things to be doing right now. Like hanging out with Kenneth, for instance.”

Fitz laughed. “Is he really _that_ bad? I thought you said he wasn’t.”

She shook her head. “No, he’s not, but—” She decided to take a chance. “I’d much rather be here talking to you.”

Fitz’s smile did wonderful things to his face, Jemma decided. “I’d much rather you be here talking to me, too,” he replied, and casually stretched his arm out across the back of the sofa behind her.

They stayed that way—chatting while they sipped at their drinks—for what felt like hours. Occasionally people would stop by to say hello to Fitz, but he kept his focus entirely on her, and no one hung around for long. Feeling just as wrapped up in each other as they had the first night they’d talked at the bar was thrilling, and Jemma never wanted it to end—but as Fitz had reminded her, it was the last night of the conference. All good things had to come to a close, didn’t they?

When the hour grew late and they’d finished their second round of drinks, they reluctantly pulled themselves away from the bar and headed for the lifts. Jemma felt a sense of dread encroaching upon her happy mood—she didn’t want to leave Fitz and return to her room alone, where she would doubtlessly get a restless night’s sleep followed by the mad rush of checking out of the hotel in the morning and dashing to the airport to make her flight home. But she kept a smile on, not knowing if Fitz felt the same way, and continued their thread of conversation as they rode the lift up to their floor.

But instead of going their separate ways at the split in the hall, Fitz followed her, still chatting easily about her travel plans for the morning. Jemma’s hand loosened over the shoulder strap of her bag as something like relief mixed with excitement filtered through her. He didn’t want to leave her.

Or he was angling for an invitation into her room.

She bit her lip as he complained about JFK’s security lines. Either scenario was fine by her.

When they reached her door, Jemma stopped and turned to face him. “Well, this is me,” she said, curious and eager to see how Fitz would respond.

He blew out a sigh. “Yeah,” he replied quietly, looking from her to the doorknob. “I guess… this is goodnight then?”

Disappointment flooded her. Maybe he wasn’t feeling as bold as she’d assumed, then. “I suppose, yes,” she murmured, watching him carefully. “Thank you for taking me out for drinks. It was… I had a good time.” She’d had a good entire weekend, but admitting to that felt like a bit much.

Fitz smiled faintly as he looked back up at her. “Oh, no problem. I’m glad we got to—talk.” And then, instead of properly saying goodnight, he hesitated. Even though he hadn’t invited himself in it was clear he was reluctant to go, and Jemma didn’t want to excuse herself either. All she could do was stare back up at him. The moment felt caught, suspended, the air between them heavy with the weight of possibility. Whatever they had been moving towards ever since they’d first locked gazes across the hotel bar had built up to whatever happened next.

Finally, Fitz blinked and swallowed like he was coming out of a trance. “Goodnight, Jemma,” he said softly, and then—he shocked her by stepping in close to lean down and brush his lips over hers in a light kiss.

It felt like fireworks burst at the contact. Jemma immediately surged forward to press her mouth more firmly against his, keeping him in place. He was warm and soft, and the scent of his cologne—something deliciously spicy, woodsy—made her feel more intoxicated and dizzy than a night full of drinks had.

When she forced herself to pull back, mindful of the fact they were in an open hallway, Fitz opened his eyes to look back at her, poleaxed. He sucked in a breath. "Can I—"

"Do you want to come in?" she blurted.

"Yes," he replied immediately, his cheeks flushing a dull pink.

Excruciatingly aware of every inch of Fitz right next to her, Jemma fished her room key out of her bag with trembling fingers and swiped it over the card reader, then opened the door when it clicked. Inside, the only illumination came from the bright city lights filtering through the gauzy window curtains. 

Her heart pounding, Jemma went to go set her bag down on the dresser. Then she felt Fitz's hand at her elbow, and when she turned to him he pulled her into his arms for a passionate, toe-curling kiss, quickly slanting her mouth open to deepen it.

Oh. _There_ was the boldness she'd wanted to see from him.

She could taste the lingering traces of the scotch he'd had on his lips and tongue, but it wasn't a turn-off; it only made her want him more. She gave as good as she got, twisting her fingers into the lapels of Fitz's expensive suit jacket to urge him closer, moaning when he kissed her in just the right way to light fire in her veins.

When the need for air pushed them apart Fitz kept her close, resting his forehead on hers. She couldn't make out his expression very well in the darkness, but she could tell he was smiling. "I've wanted to do that all weekend," he panted.

"What?" Jemma laughed as sheer delight and desire bubbled up inside her chest. "Really?"

"Yes, really." Fitz tightened his arms around her. "Right from when I first saw you present."

She laughed again, reaching up to comb her fingers through his hair. "No you didn't. That's mad."

"I did!" he insisted, laughing too. "I thought you were brilliant and beautiful, and then we met at the bar and I realized you were actually _amazing_ —"

Dammit. He couldn't say things like that and not expect her to rip his clothes off. The best part was, she instinctively knew without a doubt that Fitz hadn't said it just to get sex. It wasn't his _only_ aim, at least. And that was why she interrupted him with another blazing kiss, this time slipping her hands beneath his lapels to get his jacket off his shoulders.

Fitz responded enthusiastically, shrugging his jacket off to the floor before attacking her cardigan, and Jemma toed off her sensible loafers while he pulled the sleeves down her arms. Then he moved to lay a line of hot kisses down her throat as his fingers went to work on the buttons of her blouse. Jemma’s breath caught, but she still had enough sense about her to fumble for his shirt and pull it from the waistband of his trousers, and use that hold on him to pull him towards the bed.

“In a hurry?” he asked, his amused voice muffled against the skin of her neck. Jemma felt a sharp thrill at how low and hoarse his tone was, the desire she could hear in it.

“Maybe,” she huffed, abandoning his shirt to pull at his tie. “I feel a bit like I’ve been waiting for this all weekend, too.”

“Oh. _Oh_.” Fitz straightened up, leaving her blouse half-open, and she could see just enough of him to tell that his eyes were shining and he was grinning widely. He gently batted her hands away to pull off his tie himself. “Well, far be it from me to keep the lady waiting.”

Jemma found herself grinning back, excitement thrumming through her. “Now that’s what I like to hear,” she told him, and reached out to pull him into another kiss before starting to undo the buttons on his shirt. 

She couldn’t wait to get her hands on him. She was going to enjoy every minute of it.


	4. Chapter 4

Jemma awoke the next morning to the sound of her phone alarm blaring its cheerful tune. She grumbled as she reached out to slap at it and turn it off, then sank back into bed—and immediately encountered a warm mass beneath the sheets beside her.

Fitz. He was still there, spooned against her back with an arm over her waist, and as she relaxed he pulled her closer, mumbling indistinctly. Letting herself settle back into his embrace, Jemma cast her mind over her memories of the night before.

It was amazing. Sex had never been so good with anyone else, and she’d never had so attentive a lover. She’d tried to be quiet, mindful that they were in a hotel with neighbors in the adjoining rooms, but she was pretty sure he had made her moan just a little too loud. She wasn’t sorry. After, she’d lain in his arms as they talked about quiet, harmless things—mostly past dates gone hilariously wrong that made what they’d just done together seem all the better. Fitz never mentioned his wife, but Jemma didn’t blame him; the worst place to discuss one’s late spouse had to be while in bed with someone else. Eventually their talk had led to more kissing, then wandering hands, then another round that was even better than the first. She’d asked him to stay, and as she’d dropped off to sleep in his arms she’d wondered if the magic they’d found in the dark of her room would carry over, or if it would all be horribly awkward in the harsh light of day.

Fitz, curled around her back with his thumb stroking absently over her stomach while he pressed slow, sleepy kisses to her bare shoulder, didn’t feel awkward at all.

“What time is it?” he muttered in between kisses, his voice scratchy with sleep. “It feels way too early.”

“It’s early enough,” Jemma sighed. She’d closed her eyes, the better to concentrate on the warm bloom of his lips on her skin as he worked his way out to the edge of her shoulder. But after a moment, she forced herself to roll onto her back to look at him. “Hi,” she said quietly.

Fitz stayed on his side, but propped himself up on one arm so he could look down at her. “Hi,” he replied, the beginnings of a smile twitching up the corners of his mouth. His gaze was soft, fond. It tugged at something in her chest. No, this didn’t feel like a one-night stand at all. Rather, it felt like the first morning of something new—something that could possibly be wonderful.

That led her to be a little more honest and candid than she might ordinarily have been. “I wish I didn’t have to get up,” she murmured, watching how the sunlight coming through the windows picked out the highlights in his tousled hair, giving him a golden halo. “I wish I didn’t have to _leave_.” She blushed slightly at her candor and dropped her gaze to the center of his chest, letting her fingers creep up over where his hand was still resting on her stomach. “It’s been nice here, with you.”

There was silence for a moment. Then she heard Fitz inhale. “So don’t,” he said.

She looked back up at him, surprised, and there was a new intensity to his eyes that made her breath catch. “What?” she whispered, confused.

“Don’t leave,” he repeated, and shifted his hand to curl his fingers around hers. “I’ll be here in the city until the end of the week on business, but I won’t be busy every day. Stay with me.” When she didn’t immediately reply, he squeezed her hand and added, “ _Please_.”

Jemma just stared at him in shock. It was too good to be true—the fabulously wealthy, intelligent, and handsome man of her dreams asking her to forget her responsibilities for a week and stay with him in the city. But Fitz certainly seemed serious, his gaze almost pleading as he looked at her. She had so many questions, so many reasons why she should turn him down, and she didn’t know where to start. Knowing he needed a response of some sort, she grasped at the first thing she could.

“What about my flight?” she asked, but the question sounded weak even to her ears. “It’s already paid for—I mean, obviously, of course it is—”

“I’ll cover it.” Fitz squeezed her hand again. “I assume you were comped, so we can get that squared away later, and—I’ll cover your flight back with me, too. Don’t worry about that.” When she started to protest, he swallowed and added, “You don’t _have_ to stay with me—if you can’t take off work, it, it was just an offer, I understand if you don’t want—”

“I do,” Jemma blurted, then blinked, wide-eyed, up at him. She—who had never done anything impulsive in her life, who planned everything meticulously out in advance—had just agreed to essentially run away with him for the week.

Fitz stopped and blinked back at her, his jaw working silently. “You do?” he managed after a moment, sounding for all the world like he’d fully expected her to say no.

She nodded, and the more she thought about it, the more the rightness of it settled in her bones. “I do.”

He smiled, his happiness lighting up his face, and Jemma found herself mirroring it. “Right. Great. Brilliant,” he said, and let go of her hand to reach up and brush a lock of hair away from her face. 

She sighed and looked up toward the ceiling. “Oh, there’s so many things I have to do. I have to text Kenneth and tell him I’m staying, have to text my roommate and tell her not to expect me in the morning, text my boss and tell her I’m not coming in this week, put in for holiday…”

“Do you have to do all that right now?” Fitz had leaned forward and was placing soft kisses across her forehead and cheeks, down her nose. It made Jemma forget everything she was saying.

“No, I suppose not. Not right this minute.”

"Good." He captured her lips in a kiss that started out gentle, but quickly turned heated and purposeful. Realizing they had the whole morning to themselves now, Jemma slid her hands into Fitz's hair as their kiss deepened, tugging him closer. Without missing a beat, he moved to cover her body with his, settling his hips between her thighs like he'd made a home there. She hummed with pleasure as he rocked against her, and for a long while she didn't know anything else except for his kiss and his touch, and the way his pale skin seemed to glow in the morning sunlight.

-:-

Later, after they’d finally dragged themselves apart from each other and Fitz had gone back to his room for a shower and to pack, Jemma called Kenneth. She figured something like bailing on him for their scheduled trip back home warranted an actual phone call rather than a simple text.

He picked up on the third ring. “Hello, Jemma?”

“Good morning, Kenneth,” she said pleasantly.

“Yeah, good morning.” He sounded wary. “Is something wrong? You usually text.”

Jemma bit her lip and wiggled her bare toes on the hotel carpet next to the bed. “No, nothing’s wrong. I just—wanted to let you know that I won’t be meeting you to go to the airport. I’ve decided to take some holiday and stay in the city for the rest of the week.”

“What?” Kenneth demanded, sounding shocked. “Wait, no, don’t tell me—does this have anything to do with the eyes that Fitz has been making at you all weekend?”

“What?” Jemma echoed, feeling her cheeks flush. “No. What eyes?”

She could practically hear his eyeroll over the phone. “The puppy eyes,” he said. “The lovesick face. He hasn’t been very subtle about it.”

Oh, great. If Kenneth had noticed something out of the ordinary, he was definitely texting all of their coworkers about it. She sighed. “Maybe,” she admitted. “But it’s my business.”

“Right, right,” Kenneth said dryly. “Have you booked the vacation? Anne isn’t going to be happy.”

“No,” Jemma replied, frowning a little at the mention of their boss. “I was planning on doing that next.”

“Good luck with that. And have fun with your week living the lifestyles of the rich and famous, I guess.”

Jemma sighed again as she ended the call, then fired off a text to her boss explaining that she would be out for the rest of the week but that Kenneth would be more than able to handle the ongoing experiments they currently had running in the lab. Anne might be upset with her taking a bit of holiday, but she could live with it; it wasn’t as if Jemma took a lot of time off to begin with. She only ever missed work for regular doctor’s visits, hardly ever for personal time.

 _Personal time._ She smiled a little as she thought about a week full of Fitz. He would have his work duties to attend to, yes, but he’d explained to her that for the most part, the days were theirs to spend however they liked. She couldn’t wait.

Then she sent a text to her roommate Daisy, telling her not to expect her home come morning. Her chores done, she stood, leaving her phone on the bedside table, and went to the bathroom to have a shower and get ready for her day. 

When she emerged from the bathroom sometime later with dry hair and clean clothes, Jemma found a reply text waiting from Daisy. More than one, actually.

 _[Daisy]: whoa whoa whoa why are you staying later? what’s going on?  
[Daisy]: did you meet someone??  
_ _[Daisy]: jemma simmons are you running away with a hot man???  
_ _[Daisy]: OMG ANSWER ME_

She couldn’t help but laugh at the series of texts, imagining her roommate impatiently monitoring her phone and waiting for an update. She almost felt bad about leaving to go have a shower. _Almost_. It wouldn’t kill Daisy to wait a few minutes. Smiling, she thought for a moment, deliberating on how much she wanted to tell, then tapped out a reply.

_[Jemma]: I might be running away with someone. Maybe_

Daisy’s response came immediately, which only fueled the notion that she was watching her phone like a hawk.

_[Daisy]: JEMMA OMG WTF_   
_[Daisy]: SERIOUSLY? WHO IS IT??  
[Daisy]: tell me i have to know all the details RIGHT NOW_

Jemma laughed quietly again. According to the time difference, Daisy was probably in their living room on the sofa with her laptop, writing code while watching trashy afternoon telly. No matter how much Jemma wanted to share everything, she didn’t have time. She had to finish packing if she didn’t want to be late meeting Fitz in the lobby.

_[Jemma]: I’ll tell you everything when I can. Right now I have to get packed and ready to leave the hotel_

She heard her phone buzz rapidly again as she set it back down on the side table, but she ignored it. There would be time to talk to Daisy later.

Once she had everything packed and had double-checked to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, Jemma left her room behind and took the lift down to the lobby. It was crowded full of conference attendees checking out, saying goodbye, or getting in last-minute drinks at the lobby’s bar. She easily made her way over to the Starbucks, where she and Fitz had agreed to meet again, and settled in to wait. 

He’d explained to her before he’d left her room earlier that he had booked a different hotel for the rest of his stay in the city. She’d never heard of the name he gave her, but he’d assured her that it was classy and a little more his speed than the conference’s hotel. She wasn’t sure what that meant. She was almost afraid to ask. 

Fortunately, Fitz didn’t keep her waiting long. Jemma was looking around at everyone moving through the lobby when she spotted him approaching from the direction of the lifts, pulling his rolling spinner suitcase alongside him. She was a little surprised to see that he was dressed more casually than she had expected—jeans, soft suede chukkas, and a pale blue button-down he’d left untucked with the sleeves rolled up—but it made her feel better about her own jeans and patterned blouse that she’d packed for the purpose of traveling. They would do well for a day in the city now.

He smiled when their eyes met, and her stomach fluttered. “Hey,” he said as he reached her side. “All packed up?”

“And ready to go,” she confirmed, smiling back at him. “I’m following you now.”

Fitz’s expression softened, and he looked at her like he couldn’t quite believe she was real. It made her heart pick up pace. “Right.” He sighed and looked across the lobby, toward the front entrance to the hotel. “Well, I’ve checked out and everything. We just need to go grab a taxi over to the Lowell and we’ll be set. It’s not a long ride, depending on traffic. Ready?”

“Ready,” Jemma said again. She followed Fitz as they wound their way through the crowded lobby and to the front doors, where the sights and sounds of a late New York morning met them. He was able to hail a taxi almost immediately, and as he helped her get her suitcase into the boot, she considered that she was stepping into the unknown now. She carefully planned out everything in her life and rarely took risks, but here she was running off with a virtual stranger for a week in a foreign city. She had no way of knowing how her time would unfurl from here; but instead of causing her anxiety like it might normally have, the uncertainty was actually rather exciting.

She was going on an adventure. Any nerves she might have felt were crowded out by the anticipation of what would come next.

In the taxi, Fitz’s leg jiggled as he looked out the window. Jemma watched his knee bounce, wondering if it was a nervous tic, and if so, why he was nervous. She was just Jemma. But maybe this was a departure from his norm, too—and it probably was, as she hadn’t heard of him seeing anyone since his wife’s death. The idea that they were both leaping into the unknown together was reassuring, and it gave her the courage to reach across the seat and cover his hand with hers.

His knee stopped moving, and he looked over at her in surprise. Jemma smiled at him and gave his hand a little squeeze—everything was fine. They were together, and she trusted him. Fitz smiled back and turned his hand over beneath hers to lace their fingers together. It made her breath skip. He was properly holding her hand.

To hide the flush that came over her cheeks, Jemma turned her face to look out the window as their taxi turned onto Park Avenue, gazing up at all of the tall steel-and-glass skyscrapers lining the street. Fitz watched her. “Have you ever been to this part of the city?” he asked.

Jemma shook her head. “I’ve been coming here for the conference for a few years now, but I haven’t had the opportunity to really get out and see the city. Anything beyond what I can see on the walk from the subway to the hotel, that is.”

This time, Fitz squeezed her hand. “We’ll have to change that. There’s plenty of time for some sight-seeing. I’ve got a meeting tomorrow morning and another Thursday afternoon, but aside from that I’m all yours until we leave on Friday.”

A tingle of excitement sparked warmth in her chest at _I’m all yours_. Was he really? The implied ownership was more than a little breathtaking to comprehend. “That sounds nice,” she replied, trying her best to manage her emotions. “I’ll have to come up with a list of things I’d like to see. Unless you already have some recommendations.”

Fitz grinned at her. “You’re a planner, aren’t you?”

She smiled right back. “I am.”

Eventually their taxi turned onto a tree-lined side street bordered by shorter, well-kept brownstones. Jemma was surprised when the car came to a stop outside a rather nondescript tall brick building that would have been completely unremarkable had it not been for the smartly-dressed doorman standing outside beneath the front awning and the neatly-trimmed potted shrubs dotting the facade. When Fitz had called it classy, she had expected the hotel to be something a little more flashy, like the Plaza or the Waldorf Astoria. This was more reserved. 

At least, she thought so until the doorman helped them get their luggage inside. The floors were all gleaming white marble accentuated by faux pillars along the walls and intricately-detailed crown moulding along the ceiling. There was an enormous floral arrangement full of white and pink lilies in an Oriental vase opposite the front entrance, and the reception desk was also made of marble, except it was an inky black shot through with veins of gold.

Jemma took it all in as Fitz went up to the desk to check in, trying not to be obvious that she was staring. She was wrong—this hotel was definitely as posh as the Plaza, just not as outwardly showy about it. A hidden gem, perhaps. A boutique hotel, she thought they were called.

Fitz turned to her with a smile, key cards in hand. “All set,” he said. “Let’s go up.”

Jemma followed him over to the lifts, which were just a step away from the reception desk. “This is nice,” she told him quietly. “You were right, very classy.”

He grinned. “Yeah? I like it. I stay here whenever I have to visit for business.” The lift bell dinged, and the door opened for them to step in. They went several floors up, and then down a simple yet tastefully decorated hallway to one of the few doors that dotted it. “Here we are,” Fitz said, and swiped his key card over the lock to let them in.

Jemma had to hold back a gasp as she came inside. The room was _beautiful_ —not flashy or overdone, but undeniably luxurious and very comfortable. She wasn’t sure where to look first: the large metal-framed four-poster bed in the center of the room heaped high with plush bedding, the dark hardwood floors, the cozy sofa and armchair grouped around a glass coffee table, or the French doors that led out to a small brick terrace which overlooked the city. There was even a small kitchenette next to the closet. She could only imagine what the bathroom looked like. 

“This is beautiful,” she said to Fitz, who was rolling his suitcase over to stand next to the desk beneath one of the room’s deep-set windows. Before she could stop herself, she added, “Do I want to know how much this cost?”

If he thought her question was gauche, he didn’t show it. “Probably not,” he replied with a sheepish smile, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck.

“And it’s a little out of the way. Not that I’m complaining,” she said in a rush. “It’s perfect—it’s just, well, not quite what I expected from someone of your means.”

“Not as glamorous as you thought?” Fitz asked, still looking a little shy.

Jemma’s eyes widened, suddenly worried she’d managed to offend him after all. “Oh, no, that’s not _really_ what I meant—”

He cracked a grin at that, and laughed gently as he came to take her suitcase from her and roll it over next to his. “It’s fine. I don’t really do the whole ‘glamorous’ bit, if you haven’t figured that out yet. I like this hotel _because_ it’s out of the way. And it does a good little afternoon tea. But more than all that, I like it because the staff knows a thing or two about discretion. I can book using my real name here and I know they won’t go blabbing to the press about what I’m doing.” He gave her a pointed look. “Or who I’m staying with.”

That made Jemma blush, averting her eyes as heat crept up her cheeks. It was as close to admitting to the—fling? affair? dalliance?—they were having as either of them had come yet, and it made it seem more real—like the night before and the early morning hadn’t been a dream, and running off with him now wasn’t just a continuation of it.

Fitz walked back over to her and took her hands, running his thumbs over her knuckles. “After we get unpacked, can I interest you in some brunch?” She looked up into his eyes and he smiled. “I’m starving, and I know you haven’t even had your tea yet. There’s a nice little restaurant around the corner I like to go to that I think you’ll like, too.” 

She nodded. “I trust your judgment, as a fellow Briton and as a frequent visitor here.”

He laughed again and pulled her forward into a sweet kiss, smiling against her lips as his hands found her waist. Jemma happily sank into him, eager for more of his taste and warmth. It spun out long enough that Fitz’s kisses turned a little more firm and his fingers curled tighter into her blouse. It was her turn to laugh, reluctantly pulling away just enough so she could speak.

“Fitz,” she murmured, laughing again when he ducked his head in an attempt to kiss her once more, “Fitz… if we don’t stop we won’t make it out to eat.”

He huffed grumpily and pulled her close again. “What if I want to eat something else now?”

“ _Fitz_!” Jemma felt her whole body flush hot at that, her mouth shocked but her mind running amok with all the things his words might entail. But rather than kissing her again when the opportunity presented itself, he leaned back, his eyes round.

“Was that too much?” he asked, a distinct hint of worry in his tone, and she wanted to dissolve into laughter yet again because he was so ridiculous but so without guile that it was unbearably charming.

“ _No_ , you silly man,” she said, eyes bright. “Just—” She took the initiative to kiss him this time, hard and full, and she felt Fitz groan as he wrapped his arms tightly around her.

They didn’t leave the hotel for another hour.

-:-

The restaurant Fitz took her to was a little French brasserie just two blocks over from their hotel. It was quaint and well-kept on the inside, with white tablecloths and crystal glasses set out on each table, and Jemma couldn’t help but feel a little posh as she and Fitz sat down. However, her eyebrows rose in alarm when she saw the prices on the menu. That much just for brunch?! Well, she reminded herself, she _was_ on the Upper East Side now. _Everything_ was bound to be expensive.

Fitz must have seen her look, because he said, “Don’t worry about the prices. Just order what you like, I’ve got it.”

She frowned at him. “Are you sure?” she asked, not wanting to take advantage of him.

He nodded with a smile. “I’m sure. It’s my treat. _I’m_ the one who asked you out.”

That was true, Jemma thought to herself. He _had_ asked her out.

Later, she thought that the French toast she’d ordered was actually worth the money spent—it was piled high with slices of fresh strawberries and blueberries, dusted with powdered sugar and a healthy dollop of whipped cream. Fitz’s eggs Benedict looked positively scrumptious as well, though she would let him keep the chips that came with it. What really put it all over the top, however, was the mimosa. Fitz had stuck to orange juice, but Jemma couldn’t help herself. Sipping a refreshing mixture of sparkling rosé and strawberry nectar to go along with the fruit on her French toast felt like an extreme indulgence.

“So what do you think you’d like to do today?” Fitz asked as they ate. “We’ve got the rest of the afternoon free.”

Jemma thought for a moment as she chewed a bite of fruit and toast. “I’m not sure,” she said once she swallowed. “I’ve never really thought about what I’d do here because I’ve never had the opportunity to actually explore… what would you recommend? You’ve been here loads of times.” She smiled. “Should I see all the typical touristy places, or avoid them?”

Fitz grimaced slightly as he cut into his eggs and toasted muffin. “Actually… I don’t get out much when I’m here, either. I usually just stay at the hotel and work.” He glanced up at her. “I’m a bit of a workaholic.”

Jemma thought that over for a minute. That didn’t seem quite right. She thought she recalled seeing photos on Twitter of Fitz and his late wife out and about on their travels plenty of times. Surely she’d come with him on at least one of his trips and they’d seen the city together. But it didn’t feel polite to ask, so Jemma left it alone.

“Though,” Fitz added after he took a bite of his food, “I wouldn’t mind seeing the Museum of Natural History. I’ve never been, and they’re supposed to have a ton of science exhibits. What do you think about that?”

“I love museums,” she replied. “I’d like to go, if you want to.”

Fitz smiled. “Brilliant. That’s set, then. It’s not too far away from here, I think, just on the other side of Central Park—but we’ll still need to take a cab. We can go after we’re done here.”

Jemma hid her own smile behind a sip of her mimosa. She was actually going to go out and see the city with Fitz. It felt like they had just agreed to a date. A _real_ date. Was it? What did you call it when you agreed to go see the sights with a man you’d slept with but were not formally seeing?

Whatever it was, she was excited. It felt like a first step into something concrete and solid. She didn’t want to get ahead of herself, but… oh, who was she kidding? She was already in deep. Fitz was everything she’d ever wanted out of a man—intelligent, witty, kind, handsome—and she wanted what they were starting to be long-term. She’d had a good feeling about them ever since she’d gone for tea in his hotel room, and she was positive he felt the same way. It was a heady, dizzy sort of giddiness that she’d never experienced before with anyone, and she was finding she was eager to lean into it.

The museum ended up being a perfect date for them. They spent hours exploring the many exhibits there—Jemma excitedly pulled Fitz through the dioramas and displays in the Hall of Biodiversity, while Fitz expounded on the various displays in the Hall of the Universe, putting his physics degree to good use. They strolled hand-in-hand through the Fossil Halls discussing various dig and preservation techniques, looked at all of the art and clothing shown in the Cultural Halls with fascination, and gaped at the meteorites on display in the Planetary Science Hall. 

It was probably the best way to spend an afternoon that Jemma could think of, no matter where she was, and Fitz was absolutely the best person to be there with. He was full of curiosity for everything they saw, and had good thoughts to offer on the things he was knowledgeable about. He was an exceptional conversationalist when it came to all things science, something for which Jemma was profoundly grateful; she could talk to him in a general sense, yes, but it was so thrilling to be able to talk to someone on the same level as she about her own interests. Growing up precocious and skipped ahead of her peers, it wasn’t something that happened often, even now that she was an adult. Knowing Fitz’s history, she thought he might feel the same.

Her favorite part of their trip to the museum was the planetarium. Fitz bought them tickets to see the show currently on offer there—an expedition through the planets of the Solar System—and it was a treat to sit in the darkened theater, staring up at a hyperrealistic recreation of the universe projected onto the screen above them. Fitz held her hand again all through the show, and every once in a while she would look over at him, catch his eye, and he would smile that smile of his that she was coming to think of as hers alone.

By the time they finally left the museum, the sun was sinking below the horizon. Jemma felt like she was walking on air, her hand still secure in Fitz’s as they stepped onto the pavement facing Central Park. “I can’t believe it’s so late,” he said, looking up at the darkening sky. He let go of her hand to pull out his phone and start tapping at it. “What do you think about dinner? We can find something close by.”

“Dinner sounds excellent,” she replied, turning to face him. “All of that walking around made me hungrier than I thought.”

Fitz smiled, his eyes still trained on his phone. After a minute, he hummed thoughtfully. “Do you like sushi? There’s a place right around the corner from here with good reviews.” He held out his phone so she could see it.

Looking over his shoulder, Jemma could see photos on the phone screen of all types of sushi and maki rolls along with some sashimi. Her mouth immediately started to water. “Oh, that looks divine,” she said eagerly. “I wouldn’t have thought of Japanese until you mentioned it, but now I can’t think of anything else.”

“Sushi it is, then.” Fitz straightened up and slipped his phone back into his pocket, then offered her his hand again with a grin. “Let’s go.”

Dinner was just as wonderful as the museum: good food, good ambience, and even better company. They kept up their conversations from the exhibits they’d visited, talking about the most interesting things they’d seen as they made their way through several sushi rolls. They both agreed that the planetarium show was the highlight of their visit, but Fitz argued that he liked the Space Hall the best, which didn’t surprise Jemma in the slightest given his academic background. He just smiled when she said she preferred the Biodiversity Hall and told her he expected nothing less, and that it had been nice to see it from her perspective.

His sweetness only made her heart grow softer towards him.

In contrast to the easy companionship of their day, getting ready for bed back at the hotel was actually a little awkward. Fitz couldn’t seem to decide whether he wanted to stare or give Jemma some privacy as she changed into a camisole and cotton sleep shorts, and they fumbled around each other a bit at the double vanity in their pale marble dream of a bathroom. But he smiled at her around his toothbrush as he brushed his teeth, and she tried not to stare herself at how he looked walking around in just a plain white tee and his boxer briefs. She’d already seen him naked.

When they turned down the sheets to crawl into bed, Fitz didn’t seem to know what to do with her. Jemma didn’t notice at first, too busy sighing with delight at the silkiness of the high thread-count sheets and the softness of the duvet, but then she looked over and saw him lying on his side in the dark facing her, the fingers of one hand twitching like he was itching to reach out for her.

She had to give herself a moment to appreciate the strangeness of it. This was all very new; they were sleeping together, but they weren’t _sleeping_ together, and they had yet to put a label on what they were. It had been a long time since she had spent the night with someone, and she was willing to bet she was the first person Fitz had stayed with since his wife had passed. They were relearning, together.

“Hi,” she whispered, putting a hand out to curl her fingers around his. It was an echo of her greeting from that morning.

“Hi,” he whispered back, a small smile spreading over his lips, and gave her hand a gentle tug. Jemma crossed the scant space between them and pressed against him as her mouth met his in a kiss, keeping it sweet and light to let him know she didn’t expect anything. Fitz responded in kind, his hand coming up to cup her cheek.

When they parted she felt him smile once more against her lips, and then he rolled onto his back, getting an arm around her so he could pull her into his side. Jemma came willingly, settling against him with a soft sigh as she pillowed her head on his shoulder. This felt right. It felt good. It felt like home.

“I don’t want to go to my meeting tomorrow,” Fitz grumbled quietly.

“I know,” she murmured in reply. She wouldn’t want to either, if she were him. “Try not to think about it right now. Just… relax, and try to rest. I’m…” She hesitated, in some ways still shy in regards to their burgeoning relationship. “I’m right here.”

Fitz pressed a kiss to her hairline. “Thank god for that.”


	5. Chapter 5

Fitz was still in a grumpy mood about work the following morning.

“I don’t see why I have to meet with the investors in person, anyway,” he muttered as he did up the buttons on his dress shirt. “A video conference would do just fine.”

Jemma watched with an amused smile from her spot on the bed, where she was sitting with her knees pulled up next to the remains of their breakfast, which room service had brought on a bed tray. A bed tray! It felt like the height of decadent luxury.

“Well, it’s like you said, sometimes you have to rub elbows and schmooze,” she told him. “Right? It’s hard to do that through a video link.”

Fitz huffed as he tucked his shirt into his light grey suit trousers. “All I’m doing is selling them on the projects the company wants to put into motion during the next fiscal year. Which they could have learned about if they’d come to the conference and seen my presentation.”

Jemma’s smile twisted wryly. “Why pay ninety quid for a conference pass when you can come to their offices for free?”

“You’re right, and I hate it.” Fitz sighed as he looped his belt and adjusted his trousers, then looked at her. “Mostly I just feel bad for leaving you alone.”

She waved a hand. “I told you, I’ll be fine. I have plenty of things to keep me busy here, but if I get really bored, I can always go out for a bit.”

Fitz paused on his way to pick out his jacket from the closet and looked back at her. “Promise you won’t do anything interesting without me?”

Jemma laughed. “I promise I won’t _tell_ you if I do anything interesting.”

“That’s fair.” He shrugged his jacket on, settling it over his shoulders, then walked over to the desk to pick up his wristwatch, checking the time as he slipped it on. His face twisted with displeasure. “I’ve got to get going. We wasted too much time earlier.” Then he blanched and took a step toward her, holding out his hands. “It wasn’t a waste.”

Jemma smiled up at him as she shifted on the bed to face him and reached out to accept his hands, her heart going soft. It was clear he didn’t want to leave her, and truthfully she didn’t want him to leave, either. But he had his commitments, and he would be back after lunch. She would survive until then. “No, it wasn’t,” she agreed, thinking of the lazy morning kisses they’d traded until Fitz had finally roused himself enough to call for room service. “But I don’t want to make you late. Go on, get going.”

Fitz smiled back at her and leaned down for one last kiss, lingering slightly, then sighed again. “Right. I’m gone. Text me if you need to, I’ll have my mobile on me.” He backed away from the bed, like he didn’t want to turn away and lose her from his sight. “I’ll see you soon.”

She gave him a little wave. “Bye, Fitz.”

The door closed behind him and Jemma stayed where she was for a moment, looking around the room with its bespoke furniture and expensive-looking drapes, at the sunlight spilling through the windows onto the hardwood floors, at the breakfast tray next to her on the bed, and considered the turn her life had taken.

The rich and handsome man, the ritzy hotel, the perfect date at the museum… it all felt a bit fairytale. 

But it was a wonderful fairytale, and one Jemma intended to hold onto for as long as she could.

The first thing she did after Fitz left was set the breakfast tray out in the hall by the door for the hotel staff to collect later; then she had a nice, long shower in the amazing marble shower stall in the bathroom. Once she was clean and dry and dressed, she went and sat on the sofa by the French doors leading to the terrace to decide what she wanted to do with her day.

Her first order of business: she needed some clothes. Jemma couldn’t survive on her business attire and the one casual blouse she’d packed for the conference for the rest of the week. Bringing up a map on her phone, she took stock of what shops were in the area and immediately frowned. Everything was designer—Chanel, Gucci, Prada, Alexander McQueen, and more. She supposed that was to be expected, considering the hotel was right off Madison and 5th Avenue, but she couldn’t shop at any of those stores. They were far too expensive.

Widening her search, Jemma continued to look around and finally breathed a sigh of relief when she located a Zara and a H&M near each other just a few blocks away, in the opposite direction of the hotel from Madison Avenue. That was more within her budget and they were brands that she was familiar with. Her course set, she grabbed her bag, double-checked to make sure she had a room key, and headed out. 

A couple of hours later, she walked back out onto the pavement from Zara with a satisfied smile on her face, bags swinging in her hands. She’d found a few nice new blouses to go with her jeans, in addition to the pretty floral print casual dress and sandals she’d splurged on since Fitz had mentioned trying to catch a Broadway show. Now she felt well-equipped to go the rest of the week feeling like a normal human being instead of recycling worn clothes.

A restaurant specializing in organic salads and bowls caught her eye as she walked back to the hotel, and Jemma stopped by to grab a salad to go. Back at the hotel, she changed into one of her new blouses and hung the rest of her new clothes up in the closet, then settled back down on the sofa with her lunch and her laptop, intent on getting started on her debrief of the conference. But no sooner had she opened her laptop and taken the first bite of her salad than her phone started buzzing repeatedly. 

Setting her bowl aside to pick it up, she saw several texts from Daisy in her notifications and winced. With all the whirlwind of getting settled into their room and going out to the museum the day before, she’d never gotten around to texting her roommate back and explaining what she was doing. It looked like Daisy had grown tired of waiting and was demanding answers

 _[Daisy]: okay it’s been like a whole day  
_ _[Daisy] i’m dying here  
_ _[Daisy]: where are you and who did you run off with??  
_ _[Daisy]: he didn’t kill you did he??? i haven’t seen anything on the news so spill_

The texts, all in Daisy’s usual earnest, irreverent humor, made Jemma smile and laugh. But she wasn’t sure how to tell her the details of her holiday, if this could be called that; she wasn’t even sure Daisy would recognize Fitz’s name. But Daisy worked in a tech-related field and had lived in England long enough by now that Jemma was fairly sure she would.

It took her a moment or two of deliberation and a little bit of steeling her nerves to decide on her first text back. 

_[Jemma]: I’m fine, I promise. No killing. He’s a very nice man. His name is Leo Fitz. Maybe you’ve heard of him? He’s fairly well-known in the UK_

Her phone buzzed again almost immediately with a series of quick texts.

 _[Daisy]: no shit???  
_ _[Daisy]: leo fitz? as in married to ophelia sarkissian leo fitz??  
_ _[Daisy]: leo fitz the tech genius???  
_ _[Daisy]: FUCK  
_ _[Daisy]: how the hell did you bag him?_

That made Jemma bristle slightly. Was it really so unbelievable that she could catch the eye of someone like Fitz? She obviously wasn’t as successful or high-profile as he was, but she was accomplished in her own right and had a lot to offer. At least, she thought so. She was just beginning to tap out a rather defensive reply when another text from Daisy popped up.

_[Daisy]: don’t answer that_

Jemma hesitated, and a moment later Daisy followed up with another text.

_[Daisy]: he’s been MIA for like this whole past year all torn up over his wife and now you’re telling me he’s whisked you off your feet? this is wild. are you okay, are you sure this isn’t like some rebound thing or something?_

That took Jemma aback. By all accounts Fitz _had_ grieved his wife; there was the withdrawal from public life that Daisy had mentioned, and Jemma had known that the conference was his first speaking engagement in some time. But he wasn’t _acting_ like a man out of sorts, and she was fairly certain she would be able to discern the desperation and neediness of a man on the rebound. Fitz had none of that. So far he’d come across as nothing but genuine, funny and sweet with a dry sense of humor and, amazingly, he seemed actually interested in her. Him treating her as a rebound hadn’t even occurred to her. A year wasn’t a very long time, but it wasn’t short, either. Everyone processed grief differently. Fitz was obviously ready to move on.

_[Jemma]: It’s not a rebound. He’s lovely, he’s been wonderful. I’ve never met anyone like him_

She could practically hear Daisy snort from clear across the Atlantic.

_[Daisy]: obviously_

_[Jemma]: It’s all very new, but I have a good feeling about it. It’s not a fling  
_ _[Jemma]: At least I hope it’s not_

She bit her lip as she looked down at her phone. She was mostly sure it wasn’t a fling. Perhaps ninety percent sure. But that little sliver of doubt would remain until she drummed up the courage to ask him to define what they were doing—if he didn’t get there first. 

_[Daisy]: i’ll take your word for it_   
_[Daisy]: i mean if you wanted to go get yourself a sweet sugar daddy there are worse ones to get  
[Daisy]: not that he’s a daddy because you guys are like the same age right?_

Jemma rolled her eyes even as she laughed. Of course Daisy would tease her like this.

_[Jemma]: It’s not about the money_

_[Daisy]: yeah okay. has he bought you anything nice yet?_

She shook her head again, grinning as she looked around the room before tapping out her reply.

_[Jemma]: We had a nice dinner last night, and we’re staying in a very posh hotel_

_[Daisy]: oooooh. good that he’s treating you nice!_

_[Jemma]: He’s a very nice man_

Daisy asked her a few more questions about Fitz before she said she had to put her phone down or else she was never going to make dinner. Happy that her friend’s curiosity was satisfied and that she’d been able to share her relationship with Fitz with someone, Jemma finally tucked into her own meal and pulled her laptop closer so she could get to work. She was able to pass a good amount of time writing up her conference debrief for her boss using all of the notes she had taken. Once she was done with that, she logged onto her favorite scientific journal sites to catch up on her reading.

Fitz texted her a few times, mostly on the order of _I’m bored_ and _talking revenue figures = brain death_ , all of which made Jemma chuckle in sympathy. She wanted to send him links to the articles she was reading, but she didn’t want to be responsible for distracting him during his meeting. So she limited herself to sending back a few emojis and one single science meme that she thought might make him smile.

The sun was slanting through the windows at a much lower angle when Jemma heard the doorknob turn, and she looked up to see Fitz come around the corner from the entrance into the room, looking like a man who had run the gauntlet as the door shut behind him. “I’m back,” he announced. “Finally.”

Jemma set her laptop on the low table in front of her with a smile and quickly got up to cross the room to him. “You’re back,” she echoed, smiling. “How did everything go?”

“Fine, but it was boring as shite,” Fitz complained, reaching out to pull her to him, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug as he buried his face in her shoulder. “Wished I was here with you instead.”

Jemma wound her arms around his waist in turn, delighted that he’d pulled her so close and even happier that he’d thought of her while he was gone. “Well, sometimes we have to do things we don’t like in order to fulfill our obligations,” she said, rubbing a hand over his back, “and in your case it’s for your multimillion-dollar corporation that you built yourself from the ground up.”

“Yeah, I know.” His voice was muffled by her blouse. “I would rather just stick to inventing and designing, and leave all the finance stuff to the fiscal department.” He sighed heavily. “But it is what it is.” Then he squeezed his arms around her, like clinging to her was a tether to his sanity, before letting go just enough to take a step back and look at her. “So what about you? What did you do today?”

“Nothing interesting,” she replied, her mouth twisting into a teasing smirk. When Fitz just rolled his eyes at her, she laughed and said, “No, really—I just went out to buy a few new blouses to wear this week. See?” She nodded down at the new shirt she was wearing and Fitz gave her a look over, a soft smile blooming on his face. “Then I typed up my summary of the conference for my boss, and I’ve been reading ever since. So, nothing very interesting, but it _was_ nice and pleasant. ”

Fitz tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and smiled. “Sounds like it. But hey, we’ve got the whole rest of the afternoon and evening to ourselves… how about some more sightseeing?”

“Yes, please,” Jemma replied eagerly, linking her hands together at the small of his back. “Have anything in mind?”

“I do,” he said, looking pleased. “I thought of it on the ride back here. What do you think about seeing the city from above?”

“Above?” Jemma tilted her head. “You mean, like a helicopter tour?”

Fitz shook his head. “No, not like that—though, if you’d rather do that, we can—”

Jemma briefly squeezed her arms around him. “Tell me what you had in mind.”

He pulled her an inch closer. “I was thinking we could go up to the top of One World Trade Center and see the city from up there. I bet it’s beautiful at sunset.”

“One World Trade Center…” Jemma was running through her mental checklist of New York landmarks. “Is that—”

“The new building there? Yeah,” Fitz said, finishing her thought. “New- _ish_. And they’ve got a restaurant up there, too, so we can have dinner if you like.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “I heard it’s posh.”

She laughed, smiling at his expression. “Is this how you woo all the ladies?”

His grin dropped, his eyes going impossibly wide and round. “W-what?” he stammered, cheeks blooming red. “You think—? I— _no_. If you think I’m going around _wooing ladies_ —”

Jemma silenced him with a soft kiss, pulling him against her and only relenting when she felt him relax beneath her touch. She pulled back to frame his face in her hands. “I was just teasing,” she whispered, then kissed him again for good measure. When she felt him kiss her back, she moved her lips gently against his for a moment before letting go again. “I couldn’t help it,” she said, letting her hands fall to his shoulders. “I didn’t think I was your type. This has all felt like a dream so far.”

Instead of smiling like she thought he would, Fitz’s face screwed up. “My type?” he asked, going a little stiff. “What do you think my type is?”

Jemma thought of what she knew of his late wife: tall and slim with pale skin and long, dark hair, popular and vivacious, a constant presence in the media and in fashionable social circles, and thought— _not me_. “Oh, I don’t know,” she hedged instead, plucking at his shirt collar. “Maybe someone a little more wealthy, or—” She shrugged lightly. “Someone more well-known.”

Fitz peered at her for an extended moment, like he was trying to read something in her expression; then his shoulders relaxed and he laughed—rather awkwardly, Jemma thought. “Believe me,” he said, wrapping his arms back around her, “you are _exactly_ my type.”

-:-

After Fitz changed into more casual attire, they called a taxi to take them to the World Trade Center at the southern tip of Manhattan. Their route took them around the edge of the island, which gave them some nice views of the East River with Brooklyn and Queens across the way. Jemma was tempted to take a photo of the Brooklyn Bridge as they drove underneath it but held back, lest she seem like too _much_ of a tourist. 

Their taxi let them out at a green park filled with trees, which Jemma understood was the 9/11 memorial where the Twin Towers had once stood. Next to it was a staggeringly high steel and glass building, its sharp lines and angles still somehow managing to look graceful despite itself.

“Tallest building in America,” Fitz said as they strolled through packs of tourists to the front entrance. “And the—tenth tallest in the world? Twelfth? Somewhere around there.” He looked aside at her and grinned. “I try to stay informed on these things because, you know, engineering, but they’re building them so fast now I can’t keep up.”

Jemma craned her neck to look up at the gleaming glass facade and felt a faint wave of dizziness. “I’m not sure I can imagine a building much taller than this. How do they even stay up?”

“Clever design,” Fitz replied. “And wind resistance.”

Inside, he went to pick up their tour tickets and waved them at her with a smile once they were in hand. “VIP experience,” he said. “That means we get to skip the line and go right up.”

Jemma looked at the mass of people queued to go up to the top floor and breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn’t averse to waiting in line, but the luxury of not having to was definitely appreciated. “Is this a Leo Fitz perk?” she teased, smiling winsomely at him. “Getting the VIP treatment wherever we go?”

Fitz’s smile turned a little bashful, and he scratched at an eyebrow as he led her to the VIP line for the lifts. She recognized it now as one of his nervous tics. “Not so much a Leo Fitz perk as it is ‘nothing but the best for Jemma Simmons,’” he explained. “I mean—if that’s alright.”

Warmth flooded her chest, and Jemma swore that she melted just a little bit right there next to him. The butterflies in her stomach eagerly beat their wings. Fitz might be a bit prickly with others at times, but he’d been unfailingly sweet to her since they’d met. It only made her fall for him that much more.

“It’s very alright,” she told him, taking his free hand and giving it a squeeze. “More than alright. I can’t think of any reasonable woman who would turn down being spoiled like this.”

Relief washed over Fitz’s face. “Good.” He squeezed her hand back. “That’s—good.”

The lift turned out to be one of the speedy ones, rising faster than a normal lift did; it was almost alarming to see how fast the floor numbers ticked by on the digital counter, and the sensation of going up so quickly left Jemma feeling a little disoriented. She held onto Fitz’s hand tightly until the lift came to a stop and the doors opened. Her legs felt wobbly as they stepped out onto the top floor of the tower, but it only took her a moment to get her equilibrium back.

Then she got a chance to look around her. Tall, wide windows made up the outer walls of the building, offering unimpeded views of the city in every direction. A flight of stairs led up to the restaurant and bar Fitz had mentioned, and it too was open to the city view. She could only imagine how lovely having dinner there later would be.

“So here we are,” Fitz said, pulling her by the hand toward the nearest wall of windows. “Let’s see if the view is as fantastic as I’ve read it is.”

Jemma was a little hesitant to walk right up to the window, feeling a shiver of vertigo run through her as she looked down at the rooftops of the buildings below them, but Fitz’s hand around hers gave her the courage she needed. Their first view was looking out over the tip of the island, out towards the Upper Bay; in the distance, she could just make out the Statue of Liberty as a little blip on Liberty Island, the surrounding waters of the bay turned a burnished gold by the setting sun. 

“Wow,” she murmured. “You always think of the Statue of Liberty as being so large and tall, but from here it looks tiny.”

Fitz hummed, nodding his head. “Puts it in perspective, yeah? At least, of how tall this building is.”

They took their time walking around the circumference of the room, talking quietly about everything they saw and pointing out the interesting bits. They got to see the East River from above, and the Hudson when they went to the other side of the building to look out the windows there. But Jemma’s favorite spot was where they could look down the length of Manhattan toward the taller skyscrapers of Midtown, with Central Park just visible behind them.

“I can see the Empire State Building,” she said, pointing toward the familiar Art Deco spire. “See it?”

“Yeah.” Fitz was standing behind her now, his hands resting lightly on her hips and his chest against her back. It was a wonderfully close, intimate position and it made Jemma’s heart race just a little to be that way with him in public. What if someone recognized him? But it was a thought she pushed away—Fitz wasn’t as well known in the States as he was back home in Britain. There wouldn’t be any paparazzi chasing him here. 

“Look, there’s the Chrysler Building, too,” he added. “Just to the right a little bit.” It took Jemma a moment to find it—it wasn’t as tall as the Empire State Building, nestled amongst other buildings of a similar height. 

“I see it,” she replied, and leaned back into his chest a bit. “This really is lovely. Especially at sunset. Excellent choice.” She glanced briefly up at him and smiled before looking back at the view. All of the buildings below them were lit up in tones of yellow, gold, and red by the sinking sun, the structures in the far distance forming a dark silhouette against the flaming sky. It was, dare she think it, romantic. Perhaps Fitz had brought her here just for that purpose.

That thought stuck with her as they finished their walkaround of the observation deck and went upstairs to the restaurant. They were shown to a table at the edge of the balcony that overlooked the observation deck, and Jemma had to admit that having dinner with the streets of New York visible lighting up below them was pretty magical. 

Fitz’s appetite put things back in perspective, though. “Are you really going to eat that?” she asked, raising a skeptical brow at the enormous stacked burger on his plate. She could count at least two meat patties with melted cheese, plenty of bacon, lettuce and pickles, and some type of sauce, all on a toasted brioche bun. The whole thing was held together with a long toothpick, but it still looked in danger of toppling over. Fitz was regarding it like he’d been served a king’s feast. 

“I am,” he replied seriously. “I intend on eating every last glorious bit of this. The chips, too.” He nodded at the cup of chips that had come with the burger.

“You’ll go into a food coma.” Jemma chuckled, glancing at her much more sedate choice of roasted chicken and brussels sprouts. “That is, if you can even get it in your mouth. How do you plan on eating it?”

Fitz hummed thoughtfully. “Very carefully,” he said at length.

Jemma laughed again. Dinner would have been fun solely for watching Fitz try to navigate his burger, but they kept up a good conversation too—she got started on a good rant about conservation efforts in the Amazon and he followed along, offering his thoughts from an engineering perspective. They trailed off onto tangents, circling around other topics before coming back to issues in the rainforest. It carried them all the way through dessert, a rich, creamy cheesecake covered in plump cherries that Jemma nearly couldn’t finish.

A part of her felt slightly guilty when Fitz paid again. Their food was pricey but her half wasn’t _too_ extravagant; she could afford it. Then she remembered Daisy’s text about Fitz being a sugar daddy and Fitz’s own comment about wanting nothing but the best for her, and she almost laughed. He was in no danger of going broke from paying her way around the city, and if he _wanted_ to, who was she to refuse him?

Being spoiled felt nice.

They lingered over their wine after they finished dessert, now discussing the wildlife that lived in the Amazon and looking out at the brightly-lit cityscape spread out below them now that the sky was dark. Fitz had just finished shuddering over a description of piranhas when Jemma had an idea.

“Fitz,” she said, “do you mind if we take a photo? Just—just for me to keep?” She didn’t want him to think she was going to splash the two of them together all over her social media. She just wanted a tangible memory of their week together, something she could keep and look at occasionally to remind herself that it had all been real. When Fitz just blinked at her, she added, “It’s just—the city lights look so lovely. I thought it would make for a nice photo.”

Fitz’s expression eased into a soft smile. “Sure,” he said. “We can do it when we leave.”

The photo turned out wonderful. Fitz put his arm around her shoulders and rested his temple against hers; their smiles were happy and genuine, and the city lights behind them did prove to be a beautiful backdrop.

“That’s really nice,” he said as they looked at the photo on her phone. “Send it to me?”

Jemma texted it to him with a small, private smile. If he wanted the photo to keep for himself, perhaps that meant he _was_ taking all of this just as seriously as she was.

The possibilities that lay behind that kept the smile on her face all the way back to the hotel.


	6. Chapter 6

The third morning Jemma woke up in Fitz’s arms, the sky was grey and a drizzling rain blurred the windows. It was not exactly conducive to getting up, so she simply sighed and stretched and snuggled deeper into her pillow, content to stay wrapped up in Fitz’s warmth.

“Don’t get up,” he mumbled sleepily, apparently thinking her movement signaled a desire to leave the bed. He pulled her back against his chest. “We don’t have anywhere to be, so… stay.”

He was right. He didn’t have any meetings and they hadn’t made any plans, so the entire day was wide open before them: a blank slate on which they could do whatever they wanted. At the moment, having a lie-in sounded divine.

“I’m not getting up,” Jemma murmured, slipping a foot in between his. “I’m too comfortable.”

Fitz made a noise that she thought sounded pleased and swiped his thumb once in an arc over the skin of her stomach where her camisole had ridden up. They stayed that way for several long minutes, dozing while listening to the rain patter against the windows, until Fitz shifted slightly. “We _will_ have to get up at some point,” he said, his voice muted. “I got us tickets to a show tonight.”

“Oh? Which show?”

He made another quiet noise and nuzzled into her hair, pressing a kiss to the back of her head. “It’s a surprise.”

Her interest piqued, Jemma rolled onto her back so she could look at him. “A surprise? Do I get any sort of hints?”

Fitz smiled at her. He looked achingly handsome with his sleepy eyes, rumpled hair, and stubble-roughened cheeks, and it made her heart pulse with warmth for him. “None,” he replied. “I really want you to be surprised.”

“Ooh, a mystery.” She smiled back. “Well, I suppose you can have your secrets. I won’t nag you to tell me. It’s nice to be surprised, sometimes.”

“Yeah?” Fitz seemed pleased that she wasn’t going to fight him on it. “Good. So… what do you think we should do until then?”

Jemma pretended to mull it over. Then, feeling brave, she rolled over again so she was pressed against his front, sliding her arm over his waist and burying her face in his neck. “For _now_ , I think we should have a lie-in. The weather… it’s perfect for one, don’t you think?”

Thankfully, he didn’t push her away or make fun of her for being twee. Instead, he laughed quietly into her hair. “You’ve read my mind,” he said, and squirmed to get his arms around her and roll onto his back, bringing her with him so she was settled against his side. She hummed happily as she cuddled in, pillowing her head on his shoulder and pushing her knee up over his thigh. She reflected again on how amazing it was, being with him: how right it felt, even after such a short time. She’d never felt this way with anyone else. Never felt so intellectually stimulated; never felt so safe and secure and adored.

She could feel herself falling in love right there in his arms in the middle of a plush bed in a posh hotel in New York City. Her brain was telling her to be careful, but her heart was telling her to throw caution to the wind and take the plunge.

-:-

They stayed in bed for what felt like hours, holding each other while drifting in and out of sleep with the sound of the rain serving as their soft lullaby. Sometimes Jemma would press a kiss to Fitz’s neck, and he would respond by squeezing his arm around her shoulders and brushing a kiss against her hairline. It all felt incredibly cozy and domestic and left her dreaming of more mornings like this, endless mornings: a real, defined relationship.

She needed to ask him what they were doing. But she still didn’t quite have the courage yet.

Eventually Fitz’s growling stomach pulled them from bed, his expression sheepish and apologetic as they got dressed. “Got to eat,” he explained. “I swear I still have the same metabolism I did when I was eighteen.”

“I believe it,” Jemma laughed as she slipped her shoes on. “I saw what you ate last night, and look at you. Very trim figure.”

His fingers paused briefly as he did up the buttons on his shirt, and she swore his cheeks went a little pink. How darling—Fitz blushing at a compliment to his physique. Surely he was used to it, from his late wife at least?

“That was nice,” he said as they sat down to a late breakfast at the hotel’s restaurant. “Having a lie-in. I haven’t had one in months.”

“Really?” Jemma’s nose scrunched a little in disbelief as she picked up the menu, glancing at him over the top of it. “Not even on a weekend?”

He shook his head. “No. Workaholic, remember? I can always find something to do. Besides, I… I like staying busy.” He tapped a finger against the edge of his menu as his eyes scanned over it. “But yeah, it was nice. Staying in with you.” His gaze lifted to hers and his mouth twitched up into a small, shy smile.

Jemma couldn’t help but smile back, as charmed as she ever was by him. “It _was_ nice,” she agreed. “Good thing we had today off.”

Once they’d finished their breakfast—a stack of waffles with sausage for Fitz and an oversized omelette with mushrooms and peppers for Jemma—they went back upstairs to their room to get ready for the day.

“You can have the shower first,” Fitz said gallantly. “Since, you know, it’ll take you longer to do your hair and everything. Right?”

Jemma glanced into the bathroom to gauge the size of the marble shower stall. It had seemed plenty large the day before, but she wanted to be doubly sure. A rather flirty idea had struck her, a way to spend a little more time close to Fitz, and she wanted to be certain her plan was sound before she proposed it.

“Or,” she said, looking at him from beneath her lashes, “we could both have the shower together.”

He looked up from where he’d just dropped his wallet on the desk and froze. “Or… yes, we could do that,” he croaked. 

Fitz was adorable, truly. Blushing at comments to his body and acting poleaxed at an invitation to shower with her when they’d already slept together four times? If she wasn’t already halfway in love with him, she would be hard-pressed to keep herself from falling now.

Unable to resist teasing him, she took a few steps forward, letting a smile warm her face. “I’m not sure you sound convinced that it’s a good idea.”

Fitz visibly swallowed, his gaze raking over her once before lifting to meet her eyes again. She could already see that the blue of his irises had darkened in interest. “Oh, I think it’s a _very_ good idea,” he managed, and reached out to grasp her gently by the waist and pull her to him. His voice had dropped an octave. “I’m very interested.”

"Yeah?" Jemma's smile widened; she felt like the cat who'd gotten the cream. 

"Yeah," he echoed, and leaned in to kiss her. He stayed soft and sweet for all of a second before running his tongue along the seam of her lips, begging entrance; she opened up to him immediately and moaned quietly as he deepened the kiss. The enthusiasm with which he kissed her, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, made Jemma's body sing and gave her hope that they could get up to a little more than just washing in the shower.

But it seemed that Fitz had other ideas. He started walking them both back towards the bed, and when her legs hit the side of the mattress he broke away to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck as his fingers went to the buttons on her blouse. "Shouldn't— _mmm—_ shouldn't we be going in the other direction?" Jemma asked, tingles racing down her spine at the rasp of his tongue over her pulse point.

"Hmm? No," Fitz murmured against her skin, his nimble fingers undoing the last button. Then he blindly reached up to push her blouse over her shoulders and down her arms, letting the silk flutter to the floor. 

"But—the shower," she reminded him, though her protest was weak. He'd just undone the clasp of her bra and pulled it off, too, and was now palming a breast as he sucked at the join of her neck and shoulder. 

"Jemma." His hands dropped to her waist and he straightened to rest his forehead on hers, looking into her eyes. "You can't ask me into the shower with you and not expect me to—to _react._ " He kissed her again, a little softer than before but with an underlying hint of neediness that made want coil in her belly. "We can have a shower and do anything you want, but first—let me just—"

And then words appeared to fail him because he pulled her into another kiss, this one full of passion and hunger. 

When he put it like that, Jemma found it hard to argue. The shower could wait. For now, he was wearing far too many clothes in comparison to her.

She would have to rectify that immediately.

-:-

They didn't immediately head for the shower once they'd exhausted themselves. They stayed curled up in bed together in a comfortable silence, resting as their hearts slowed. Fitz lazily trailed a hand up and down Jemma's spine as she contemplated how nice his bare skin felt against hers. Rain still dripped down the window panes and really, it just felt like the perfect day to stay indoors and get lost in each other.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she asked after a while.

Fitz hummed thoughtfully, and part of Jemma was surprised he was even awake. The sound of his heartbeat beneath her ear had lulled her into a pleasant state of contentment and she’d been in danger of falling asleep herself. “I was thinking about your presentation,” he replied. “Wondering what type of neurotoxin would be best suited for those non-lethal weapons we want to develop.”

Jemma craned her neck to look up at him and smile. “You have very interesting ideas of pillow talk.”

“I’m serious,” he insisted. “It’s been on my mind all week. Are you sure we can’t contract you out to work on it? It’s just, it would feel wrong using your ideas without properly crediting or compensating you.”

The fact that Fitz didn’t want to run off with her work in the first place only proved to her more what sort of man he was. “I think my boss would allow me to consult for a fee,” she mused, looking back toward the French doors and drawing aimless shapes over his chest with her fingers. “As for compensation… I don’t hold any patents. But you could always cite Kenneth and me in the documentation.”

“True.” He covered her hand on his chest with his, lightly toying with her fingers. “So which toxin do you think would work best?”

“Hmm.” Jemma mulled it over for a moment. “Well, without seeing your plans for the weapons themselves, I would have to suggest dendrotoxin. Our tests have suggested heavy stopping power with only a minimal dosage, low risk of permanent damage to the subject, and a high efficacy even when suspended within a solution—”

“We would have to design our own proprietary bullet casings—”

“Yes.”

“Which would require some clever design to allow it to break up on impact in order for the toxin to disperse correctly.” Fitz gave her hand a squeeze. “That would take some work.”

“Yes, but I’m sure your team can handle it,” Jemma reassured him. “Even if you don’t personally oversee the design, you’ve got some of the best minds working for you. They’ll sort it out in no time.”

Fitz smiled fondly down at her. “Believe it or not, I actually do still have a hand in most everything the company puts out. I’m not all purely admin now. And this project is kind of a pet favorite of mine, so I’d like to be involved at all levels of development.”

Jemma smiled back. “Tell me more about it, then. How did you get the idea for it? And how much have you designed so far?”

“Well—” He settled back into the pillow, readjusting his arms around her. “You know how gun violence here in America is always in the news—”

That got them started on a line of conversation and debate that lasted well into the afternoon. If it occurred to her that it might be a little strange to be discussing science and current events with Fitz while lying naked in bed with him, she didn’t give it much thought. Instead, she only reflected on how it felt a lot like paradise, completely wrapped up in him inside their beautiful, comfortable hotel room.

They only dragged themselves out of bed again when they realized it was well past lunch and that they’d need to get showered and dressed if they wanted to make their evening show on time. Fitz joined Jemma in the shower just as promised and she was glad they weren’t in a rush because they got rather… distracted. Again.

Once they were finally ready to go—Jemma in her new dress and Fitz in a plain button-down and trousers—they went back downstairs for the hotel’s afternoon tea. “I’m not so sad we missed lunch now since it means I get to treat you to this,” Fitz said as the tea trays were brought out to their table. “I told you they do a fantastic tea here.”

“I see,” Jemma murmured, looking over the tiered tray and feeling a tad low-class. It had been a long time since she had attended anything resembling a formal afternoon tea, and this had all the trappings of one. The tea service was all delicate porcelain, and the trays were full of finely-crafted goodies. There were little cucumber sandwiches, scones with cream and jam, and assorted sweets like macarons, lemon cookies, and small bites of carrot cake. She wondered if there was any sort of custom she was supposed to follow, but—watching Fitz bypass the tea entirely to pile two finger sandwiches and a lemon cookie onto his plate—she thought that maybe she didn’t need to be concerned with looking classy after all.

Fitz kept the tea low-key, picking what he wanted from each course out of order and directing her to try his favorites—the raspberry jam, the lemon cranberry scone, the chocolate cake. The tea itself was standard Earl Grey, but it was very good, too. By the time they finished and set their empty cups down, Jemma almost felt like she’d eaten a full meal.

“So, is the show we’re seeing still a surprise, or can you tell me now?” she asked as they walked hand-in-hand one block over to Fifth Avenue to catch a taxi. 

“Hmmm.” Fitz smiled as he looked skyward, tapping his chin while pretending to think it over. “I guess there’s no harm in telling you now. What do you think about seeing _Hamilton_?”

“What?!” Jemma shrieked, coming to a stop in the middle of the pavement. “That show’s supposed to be sold out for _months_! How did you get tickets so quickly?!”

His grin had widened at her outburst, and Fitz looked entirely too pleased with himself as he tugged on her hand, pulling her back into motion. “I’d like to keep at least a little bit of mystery,” he replied. “Let’s just say they were a very lucky find. They aren’t the best seats in the house, but we’ll still be—how does the line go?—‘in the room where it happens’?”

Jemma laughed out loud, swatting at his arm with her free hand. “Oh, stop! This is too much. You really are spoiling me.” 

He shrugged, like obtaining tickets to a wildly-popular and completely sold-out Broadway show was a small thing. “You’re worth it,” he replied.

A few hours later, he was leading her back out onto the pavement in front of the theater, his arm around her shoulders as she valiantly tried not to sniffle.

“It was just so much!” she cried. “Eliza singing about who tells your story—her devotion—everything she did—it’s too much!”

“Mmm,” Fitz hummed, and when she looked at him she could tell he was trying not to smile. 

“You’re laughing at me,” she accused him.

A full smile split his face. “I’m not!” he protested. “I’m really not, promise. I’m glad you liked it.”

“Did _you_?” Jemma asked.

“I did,” Fitz replied as they walked down the pavement away from the theater, dropping his arm from her shoulders to take her hand. “It was really good. I just think I’m not as invested as you.”

“Hmph,” Jemma sniffed. “How could you _not_ be invested, she loved him _so much_ —”

Fitz pulled her close into his side and pressed a kiss to her temple. “She did. It was moving. He didn’t deserve her.”

“No, he didn’t.”

When she glanced back at him, she was surprised to see that instead of smiling, Fitz now had a contemplative look on his face. She wondered what he was thinking about. Probably Eliza, she told herself, and everything she’d had to put up with from Alexander Hamilton over the years. Yes, that was likely it. Smiling, she tightened her grip on his hand and leaned into him as they continued to walk down the street.

-:-

Wednesday morning found them at the Sheep’s Meadow in Central Park, taking advantage of another free day and the return of nice weather to have a picnic breakfast in the park. The hotel had packed them a lovely basket full of fruits, cheeses, and pastries—which Jemma supposed was a perk of staying in a posh hotel like theirs—and they were currently lounging on a blanket spread over the grass, sipping on the last of their mimosas.

“I could spend another week like this,” Fitz commented. He’d rolled onto his back on the blanket and was squinting up at the sunny sky, one hand held up to shield his eyes. Jemma thought he looked like the picture of perfect contentment, all relaxed and loose and smiling: the romantic hero of the twist her life had taken.

“Yeah?” she asked, hiding an adoring smile behind another sip of her drink.

“Yeah.” He crossed his ankles and turned his smile on her. “Seeing the city with you, hardly anything important to do… it’s been—nice. Like the holiday I didn’t know I needed. Loads better than how I thought my week _would_ go. All alone and bored to death with meetings.”

He reached out to take her free hand with his and give it a squeeze, and she felt her heart pulse with affection for him. But his words were also a reminder that their week together in the city was almost over. In just a couple of days, they would go back to London and their own lives—her to the little flat she shared with Daisy in Brixton, and Fitz to his multimillion-dollar company and doubtlessly large house in one of the richer boroughs. What would become of them? Would everything they’d shared here in New York fade into mist, or would he be interested in keeping what they had going?

There wouldn’t be a better time than now to bring up the subject of _them_.

“It’ll be strange, going back home after all of this,” she said, trying to choose her words carefully. “It’s been wonderful here with you—like a dream. But then I’ll go back to my lab and you’ll go back to yours… our completely separate lives.” She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. “But maybe… we could still see each other?”

It came out far more hesitant than she would have liked, born of nerves and the fear that he would say no, this was just a casual fling for him. But Fitz only tilted his head, his hand tightening around hers.

“Yeah…” he murmured. His brows drew together like he was trying to sort out a difficult problem. “Of course. Maybe—” He sat up suddenly and set his empty glass down by the picnic basket. “Maybe we don’t have to be apart.”

A funny feeling took root right in the center of Jemma’s chest. Something like hope. “What do you mean?”

Fitz took her glass from her and set it aside as well, then curled both of his hands around hers. “I mean—” His expression turned very serious, and he stared at her like she held all the answers to everything in the universe. He stared for so long that Jemma thought to ask him if he was alright, but before she could he sucked in a breath and said, “Marry me.”

Her jaw fell open. “What?”

“Marry me,” he repeated, clutching her hands tighter and shifting closer to her on the blanket. She would have thought he was joking if it weren’t for the completely earnest, intent look on his face. “Jemma—I’ve never met anyone like you. I’ve never _connected_ with anyone like you before, and—and you feel it too, don’t you?” At her slight nod, he squeezed her hands again and continued, “I know we’ve only just met, but I already know I want to spend the rest of my life building on that connection. So, will you? Will you marry me?”

Jemma was gobsmacked. She’d expected him to at the very least say yes, they could continue seeing each other in London—but this was beyond anything she could have imagined. There were so many reasons to say no. They barely knew each other, they should date for awhile first, they were from different social circles, he’d only lost his wife a year ago… but Jemma, who was methodical, who planned everything out, who never made rash decisions, had found herself caught up in the flush of new love and the certainty that she’d found something remarkable. She heard herself saying, “Yes.”

Fitz’s lips parted. “Yes? You’ll marry me?”

Jemma nodded, a dazzling smile spreading over her face as pure, utter joy burst through her. “Yes, I will.”

His answering smile was like seeing the sun after weeks of grey rain, and as he cupped her face in his hands to pull her forward for an impossibly sweet kiss in the middle of Central Park, she thought that there was nothing that could ever eclipse the beauty of this moment.

-:-

And that was how Jemma found herself planning a New York City elopement. 

Fitz wanted to get married as soon as possible—he explained that if they had the ceremony at home, the legal requirement of banns (were they to have a church wedding) would tip off the press and they would not have any peace whatsoever from the moment the banns were read. 

Jemma had to admit that it was a reasonable argument, even if her parents and Daisy would kill her for getting married without allowing them to be there. If she had to pick between a wedding overrun by paparazzi and a courthouse ceremony that would land her in hot water with her friends and family, she would choose the judgment of her loved ones. That, at least, she knew she could handle. The paparazzi were a foreign and frightening concept.

Besides, there was something thrilling about eloping. It felt like a slightly clandestine, completely unbelievable end to her week in the city with the man of her dreams. Maybe she was finally rebelling after a rather staid lifetime of following the rules, but in the moment she couldn’t worry. Sitting in the back of a taxi filling out their marriage license online on her phone while on the way to the city clerk’s office, Fitz’s arm slung across her shoulders, was giving her a high unlike anything she’d ever felt in her life.

Once they had the license in their hands, they went back outside to the pavement to take stock of their plans.

“We should go shopping,” Fitz said. Jemma was holding the license, looking down at the printed text and telling herself that it was real, it was really happening. “I think I’d like a new suit and you… well, you can wear the dress you wore last night if you like—you looked beautiful—but we can get you something too, if you want. At the very least, we need rings.”

They had decided to get married the very next morning. Fitz had meetings in the afternoon and then they were flying out on Friday, so it was the only time to do it before they went back home. Jemma had raised the concern that they might not have enough time, but Fitz reassured her that if they were back at the city clerk’s office right when the doors opened, they would be in and out with enough time for a nice meal and some time to themselves before he had to leave for business. He promised to take her on a proper honeymoon later, after they’d settled in together in London.

She looked up at him, finding him watching her with a soft shine in his eyes. It was a look she thought she could live in for the rest of her life—and she was going to, she thought with a smile.

“We can go shopping, yes,” she said, nodding. “I thought all of the suits you wore at the conference were very sharp, but I won’t stop you from buying a new one.”

He made a face. “I am not going to _marry you_ in a week-old suit I wore at a ruddy conference. This is important. I want to look nice. My mum would kill me if I didn’t.” He paused. “She’s going to kill me anyway, but I’ll deal with that later.”

Jemma almost didn’t hear him say he was going to be dealing with heat from his own family; she was too busy focusing on the fact that he said he wanted to look nice for their spur-of-the-moment wedding. It was proof— _more_ proof—that he was taking it all very seriously. It made her heart feel gooey inside her chest, like she might melt at his sweetness. She was going to _marry_ him. 

“Alright. We won’t get married in clothes we’ve already worn.” She stepped in close to peck him on the cheek, pleased when he smiled at her. “Where do you want to go?”

Their next taxi dropped them off outside the Ted Baker store on Fifth Avenue, just a few blocks from their hotel. Jemma regarded both it and Fitz with a certain amount of bemusement. “Ted Baker?” she asked. “Really?”

Fitz glanced at her as they crossed the pavement toward the front doors of the shop. “What’s wrong with Ted Baker?” he frowned, a hint of defensiveness coloring his voice.

“Nothing!” Jemma laughed as she followed him inside. “It’s a nice store. It’s just—I don’t know, I suppose I expected you to shop a little more posh. Maybe Armani or something like that.”

His face wrinkled again. “I like the suits here,” he said. “I hardly ever have to get them tailored. And, um… I don’t like to spend extravagantly if I can help it.”

That made sense given his modest upbringing, Jemma thought, and she felt a little guilty for mentioning expensive things now. But Fitz didn’t seem to truly mind; he came to a stop in the middle of the store floor and placed a light hand at the small of her back. 

“Why don’t you look around?” he told her. “I know they carry dresses here. See if you can find one you like, so you don’t have to follow me around and get bored to death. I’ll try not to take too long.” This time he kissed her cheek and smiled again before heading for the second level of the store and the men’s suits section.

Jemma walked slowly around the lower level, looking at all of the clothes on the racks. Ted Baker was a store that hailed from London, but she didn’t visit it often, only during sales—it was just edging out of her price range. The apparel on offer on the ground floor seemed to be most of their casual fare, which included several dresses that she thought were lovely, but not quite right to get married in.

Up on the second level she found the formalwear. Men’s suits were off to one side, but she couldn’t see Fitz; perhaps he’d already found some things to try on and had gone to the fitting rooms. Ahead of her, she saw women’s dresses. Upon closer inspection, she saw they actually had a small bridal display.

How fortuitous, she thought. Even better, the dresses on the rack skewed more casual, better suited to something simple like a courthouse wedding, and when she checked the price tags, they were actually affordable—they didn’t want to make her groan while maxing out her credit card. Because if Fitz thought he was buying her dress for her, he had another thing coming.

Jemma picked up the first dress on the rack, which was white and had a fitted sweetheart bodice with a chiffon and lace overlay that came up to a crew neck with long sleeves, and a razor-pleated skirt that fell to the knees. It was simple without being plain, and feminine without being too fussy. She could already see herself in it. Searching through the rack, she found one in her size and took it to the fitting rooms.

She was delighted when it was relatively easy to put on—one lone zipper up the back—and it fit perfectly. Turning to the stall’s mirror, she smoothed a hand down the front of the dress and exhaled, feeling a sudden buzz of nerves at seeing herself in white. She was going to buy this dress. Fitz would love it. She was going to marry him in this dress tomorrow.

It was a lot to take in.

Back out in the store, the dress folded over her arm, she chose light peachy-pink leather pumps to go with it. After a few moments of deliberation, she decided to splurge and get a matching pink leather matinee bag with a gold chain strap to complete the ensemble. She deserved something nice, she told herself. She was only getting married once. 

Fitz met her by the accessories rack, a few garments made of what looked to be a warm grey checked wool draped over his own arm. “Oh, you found something!” he said. Then he slapped a hand over his eyes. “Oh, I shouldn’t look, should I?” he cringed, peeking out from between his fingers. “Bad luck and all?”

Jemma laughed. “I don’t think it matters. You’ll see me first thing in the morning, anyway.”

“Ah, yes. That’s right.” He lowered his hand and peered down at the dress over her arm. “Well, what I can see looks nice.”

She beamed. “Thank you. I really think you’ll like it.”

There was a small commotion at checkout when Fitz wanted to pay for her items just like she thought he would and Jemma resisted. A tense, quiet back-and-forth ensued—Jemma’s English sensibilities would not permit her to shout in public—but she finally won, saying he could pay for their lunch after they were married and she wouldn’t complain. Fitz grumbled, but acquiesced.

Back outside on the pavement, bags filled with news clothes in hand, he had a pep to his step that she hadn’t seen before. He’d frequently been happy in her presence over the past week, but this was new. Fitz had an irrepressible smile and a general air of extreme goodwill, and it was amazing to think that she was the cause of it—that simply the thought of marrying her would make him so happy.

As they walked, Jemma looked around at all of the expensive shops and well-dressed people they passed and wondered where he wanted to get their rings. She wasn’t familiar with Fifth Avenue’s roster of stores but surely there was a nice jewelry boutique somewhere, or maybe he had one of the nicer department stores with a jewelry counter in mind. Maybe Saks, or Bergdorf Goodman. They passed an Armani store, which caused Fitz to smirk at her. She ignored him. But when he deviated from the straight line they were walking and pulled her toward a storefront, Jemma realized he was taking her to Tiffany and Co. and stopped in her tracks.

“Fitz!” she cried, as sharply as she could without creating a scene. “Are—are we really going _there_?”

He had stopped too, and looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Yes…?” he said, looking around them as if he could divine her issue. “What’s wrong? Is it—do you not like them?”

“No. Not at all.” Jemma shook her head. “I mean _yes_ , of course I like them. Their jewelry is gorgeous. It’s just… _expensive_.” She quailed at the thought of that much money being spent on her.

“I can afford it,” Fitz replied mildly, then tugged her closer. “And I don’t mind. Really. Their quality is great, I, um—I did some reading in the taxi. Besides, these are for life, yeah?” At her tiny smile and nod, he added, “So it’s worth it. I’d _like_ to get you a nice ring.”

Jemma forced herself to relax. Like she’d told herself before, if he wanted to spoil her and he was being completely sweet and genuine about it, who was she to deny him? It was obvious he wasn’t placing priority on the price tag, anyway; he was focusing on quality and durability and, most importantly, her happiness. 

“Alright,” she said softly, feeling another buzz of happy nerves. “Let’s go look at rings.”

Inside, she tried not to gawk at all of the glittering jewelry on display. “Anything in particular you like?” Fitz asked her. “Any preferences?”

“Oh, no,” she replied as they passed by a case full of colorful gemstone necklaces. “I’m not very fussy. I think I’d be happy with a plain diamond solitaire.”

He glanced aside at her. “You sure? I saw some nice three-stone rings on their site when I was looking on my phone.”

Jemma tried not to visibly shudder. She knew how much basic rings at this store cost; she could only imagine how much a multiple-setting ring would go for. Instead, she smiled at him. “I’m sure. Like I said, not very fussy—not hard to please.”

Fitz smiled back at her. “Let’s see what we can find, then.”

It didn’t take long before they were approached by a saleswoman who was thrilled to learn they were shopping for both an engagement ring and a wedding band set and eagerly set about doing everything she could to help them and make them happy. She showed Jemma the various styles of cuts they had for their diamonds, talked about things like color and clarity, and discussed the different metals they used for their bands. It was enough to make her head swim, but having Fitz beside her, cheerful and inquisitive about the process, kept her centered and grounded.

He was happy with letting her get as large a stone for her engagement ring as she wanted, but Jemma decided to stay conservative. In the end she chose a single-carat princess cut diamond on a thin platinum band. They were lucky enough that there was already such a ring in stock that fit her, so it wouldn’t have to be resized. The saleswoman let Fitz slip it onto her finger right there in the store, and there was something magical and reverent about the way he held her hand as he did, watching the diamond shine proudly once it was in place.

They kept shooting each other small smiles as they chose their wedding rings. Jemma was so taken by the sight of the diamond on her finger that she almost couldn’t pay attention. They both decided on plain platinum bands, Fitz’s slightly thicker than hers. The incandescent smile he wore as they were sealed up in the distinctive Tiffany and Co. blue boxes reassured her once again that they were doing the right thing.

That didn’t keep her from deliberately ignoring what the total bill for their purchases came to, however. She loved Fitz and she loved her new rings but she thought she’d be better off if she didn’t know how much money he had just spent.

They had lunch at an upscale Italian eatery on the way back to their hotel. Fitz kept staring at her left hand in wonder as they ate, and Jemma could hardly blame him. Her ring sparkled in the light of the overhead lamps and was physical, tangible proof of their plans for the next day.

Back in their room, Jemma immediately went to take her dress out of the garment bag and hang it in the closet. Fitz watched with a soft look on his face.

“That’s beautiful,” he said, fiddling with his own garment bag. “I can’t wait to see you in it.”

Jemma turned away from the closet and stepped toward him with a smile. “Soon. Less than twenty-four hours, in fact.”

Fitz set the garment bag down on the bed and reached out to take her hands in his, running his thumbs over her knuckles. “We’re really doing this, aren’t we?”

An unnameable emotion rose up in her chest, something like excitement and love and happiness mixed in with a dash of nervousness, and she nodded, raising their joined hands so he could see her ring again. “This proves it. Can you believe it?”

He shook his head, a wide smile splitting his face. “No. No, I cannot,” he replied, shaking his head, still smiling.

“Me neither,” she replied honestly, smiling back. “But I can’t wait.”

Fitz kissed her in the sunlight spilling through the window, and to Jemma it felt like all of their tomorrows were stretching out before them, just as bright and full of promise and love. 


	7. Chapter 7

Jemma watched the tall buildings of Manhattan pass by outside the window of their taxi, the butterflies in her stomach flapping in full force. She was wearing her white dress and nude heels, she’d curled her hair in soft waves, and her makeup was done up and set as perfectly as she could get it. She was on her way to get married, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt this effervescent combination of nerves and excitement before.

Stealing a glance at Fitz sitting next to her, she saw that his knee was jiggling. Somehow, knowing that he was nervous too helped to put her a little more at ease. She wasn’t sure how she would feel if he was one hundred percent confident; this was a big thing they were doing together, and having them both on the same page was reassuring.

Wanting to pass some of that reassurance along, Jemma covered Fitz’s hand with hers where it lay on the bench seat between them. Fitz looked away from the window to her and gave her a warm smile, then turned his hand over beneath hers so he could link their fingers together, and raised their hands to press a soft kiss to the back of hers. “Nervous?” he asked.

“A little,” Jemma replied, smiling back at him. “But it’s better, knowing I’ve got you with me.”

His expression melted into something absolutely sweet and adoring, and he kissed her hand again. “Have I told you yet that you look beautiful?”

Jemma’s smile widened even as she blushed, pleased by his compliment. “Maybe once or twice.” 

He’d looked dumbstruck when she came out of the bathroom in her full ensemble earlier that morning. She’d blushed then, too, his reverent gaze and soft “ _wow_ ” making her feel more beautiful than any other compliment could hope to. 

“Well, you do,” Fitz said, giving her hand a squeeze. “You’ll put every other bride there to shame.”

Jemma laughed. “Oh, I don’t know about _that_ …”

“You will.” He nodded confidently, like the matter was settled. She used their joined hands to poke him in the ribs.

“You clean up rather nicely yourself,” she told him. “You’ll be the envy of all the men there.”

Maybe not, but there was something to be said about a man in a smart three-piece suit. Fitz had opted to go all out for himself, selecting a matching vest to go with his checked wool jacket and trousers, and the result was impeccable. Jemma thought he cut a very dashing figure, and she’d barely been able to keep her hands off of him at the hotel. He’d had to gently redirect her and say if they didn’t leave then, they’d waste the whole morning and wouldn’t have time to make it to the city clerk.

But much like she had, Fitz was ducking his head with a bashful smile. “You’re just saying that to be nice.”

“Maybe,” Jemma replied airily. “But I also mean it. We’ll look nice together.”

The butterflies in her stomach ramped up once their taxi dropped them off at the city clerk’s office. She hesitated near a flower seller parked outside the front steps, just one of the few vendors taking advantage of the fact that quick weddings were done there.

Fitz appeared next to her, pressing a light hand to the small of her back. “Would you like some? Flowers, I mean,” he added at her questioning look.

She turned to the table full of colorful blooms with a small smile. “Yes, I think so. It would be nice, wouldn’t it? To have a little bouquet.” She looked back at Fitz, who gave her an encouraging nod. “Alright, let’s see what they have.”

She ended up choosing a small bouquet of white roses bundled tightly together to match her dress. Fitz happily paid for it, beaming when the vendor congratulated them, then led Jemma up the stairs and inside the building.

There was already a queue formed outside the office, so they would have to wait. Jemma stuck close to Fitz, tracing a light finger over the velvet blooms of her bouquet, and looked around at everyone else lined up waiting to be married. Some pairs were dressed up in formal gowns and tuxes along with a small crowd of family and friends attending, while others—like them—were dressed more casually and seemed to be alone.

Watching the queue slowly inch forward as couples went into the office one by one for their ceremony, a sudden thought seized Jemma. “Fitz!” she hissed. “What about a witness? We need a witness, don’t we?”

He just stepped in closer to her, rubbing a hand up and down her back in an effort to soothe her. “Shh, don’t worry. They provide one for us here. Said so when we read up on it, remember?”

Jemma slowly relaxed, the tendrils of panic that had been creeping around her heart easing away. “Oh, that’s right,” she murmured. “Yes, it did. I’m sorry, I forgot.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Fitz pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. “We’ll be in there soon.”

 _Soon._ Soon they would be married, which still seemed like a far-off fantastical dream, despite standing next to him wearing a white dress and holding flowers. But he was right: the line moved steadily, and before she knew it, they were going into the little room set aside for weddings. 

“Just the two of you?” the officiant asked.

Jemma and Fitz both nodded, and the officiant smiled as he accepted the marriage license that Fitz handed him. “Alright, then. Let’s get started.”

Jemma barely heard the man as he started in on the small speech customary to all wedding ceremonies. She only had eyes for Fitz, standing before her and holding her hands, his gaze warm and his expression adoring. This man, who she had chosen to run off with and who had given her a fairytale whirlwind romance, who she was now _marrying_. She knew she would never be able to explain it to anyone who asked: the instant connection she’d felt with him, the sense of homecoming, the belief that she’d found her person. No one would understand.

But they didn’t have to. Everything Jemma needed was right here. Her heart lifted as she heard the officiant say Fitz’s full name of Leopold James, as Fitz looked her in the eyes and said “I do” in response to his vows, a small smile curving the corners of his mouth. Her happiness grew even more as she too said “I do” and she couldn’t keep from smiling too as they slid their rings onto each other’s fingers. 

Then the officiant said, “By the power invested in me by the State of New York,” and Jemma thought: _This is it. It’s done. I’m married to Fitz. Married!_ A bright, sunny smile broke out over Fitz’s face, and he pulled her to him to press his lips to hers in the softest, sweetest kiss she could imagine. It was hampered slightly by how much they were both smiling, but Jemma couldn’t care. It was theirs. It was perfect.

-:-

After everyone had signed the license and the legalities had been taken care of, Jemma and Fitz went hand-in-hand back out into the morning sunshine in bubbly spirits. Nothing bad could touch them now. They were _married_. They stepped around the flower seller and another newly-wedded couple who were taking pictures outside on the steps, and were thrilled and grateful when one of the bride’s friends offered to take some photos of them on Jemma’s phone. Jemma was still browsing through them, captivated by how happy and in love they looked, as they sat down to eat at a fancy tavern in the Flatiron District.

“Will you send me those?” Fitz asked. Jemma looked up. He was still beaming at her and fiddling with the edge of her bouquet, which she’d set down on the side of their table. “I wanted to ask before I forget.”

“I wouldn’t let you forget—I’d send them anyway,” Jemma replied warmly, though she didn’t doubt they would get distracted again; they’d spent the entire taxi ride to the restaurant holding hands and smiling at each other and sneaking kisses, completely wrapped up in each other.

“I’ll have to send some to my mum,” Fitz added as he picked up his menu. “Once I tell her.” He glanced back up at Jemma and grinned again. “Maybe after we get home. No sense in having our parents yell at us before then.”

Jemma was in such a good mood that not even the reminder she’d have to tell her parents she’d eloped could sour it. That feeling persisted all the way through brunch, which was delicious. They got a few stares from the tavern’s other patrons, though they were all accompanied by smiles; Jemma’s dress and roses made it obvious they’d just been married, and that earned them a fair bit of goodwill. The tavern even treated them each to a glass of champagne on the house, which only made their morning seem even more special.

It was only once they made it back to their hotel that Jemma’s mood dimmed slightly. "I wish you didn't have to leave," she said after she'd carefully set her bouquet down on the desk, stepping into his space and resting her hands on his chest. "There's no chance of you postponing this meeting? Or doing a video call?"

"Afraid not," Fitz replied quietly, settling his hands on her waist. "But we've still got a few hours to ourselves. That's plenty of time for me to make love to my wife, yeah?"

A little tingle of delight zipped down Jemma's spine at hearing him call her his wife, and a smile spread over her face as she smoothed her palms over the wool of his suit, up to his shoulders and around his neck. There was anticipation, too, for the promise in his words, especially when he smiled back at her. "I think so, yes," she murmured, just as Fitz drew her into a soft, warm kiss.

She melted into him, their lips sliding slowly together as his arms came around her back, filling her up with a heat that spread through to her fingertips and toes. This felt different from any of the kisses he had given her before. It was purposeful, full of intent and a hint of urgency, just the way a new husband might kiss. And it was for _her_. 

Fitz pulled her even closer, his hands spanning wide and warm over her back. "I love you," he breathed in between kisses.

With a start, Jemma realized that was the first time he had said it: the first time he'd said he loved her. He hadn't before, and neither had she, all week or leading up to or right after their wedding ceremony, and she hadn't even noticed. She'd just _known_. She knew he loved her, just as she loved him. Words weren't needed. But all the same, hearing him _say_ it—it galvanized something inside her that took the warmth he'd been building and set it aflame.

"I love you, too," she whispered back against his lips, tightening her arms around his neck and pressing herself flush against him. Fitz eagerly met her more heated kisses with a passionate zeal, and it wasn't long before they were tugging at each other's clothes.

Fitz peeled Jemma out of her dress with an almost slow reverence, and she couldn't even spare a moment of regret for it as it pooled on the floor around her feet. She could worry about wrinkles later, when he wasn't laying a line of kisses down her throat and nudging her toward the bed.

He worshipped her body that morning, taking her apart with a deep care and attention that left her gasping his name in pleasure she'd never known. The best part, she found, was that he didn't have to leave as soon as they collapsed to the sheets together, sweaty and spent. Fitz had a little time to stay with her and he did, wrapping her up in his arms and murmuring quiet words of love into her hair as they laid together in bed. To Jemma, comfortable and sated and head over heels in love, she didn't think she'd ever been happier in her entire life.

-:-

And just like that, Jemma found herself flying back home to London as a married woman. Sitting in the comfortable first class cabin of their British Airways flight, she had the cheeky thought that if being married to Fitz meant never having to fly Economy again, it was worth it for that at least. They’d waited for their flight in a posh lounge instead of cramming into hard plastic seats at the gate, and Fitz had managed to switch his seat assignment on the plane so they could sit together in the middle of the cabin. Using the copious amounts of leg room to stretch out was a dream, as was the champagne and the individual mini bag of toiletries. 

They landed at Heathrow just after 8 a.m. on Saturday morning. After collecting their luggage and passing through customs, they hesitated before moving on to the airport Tube station.

“So this is a little strange,” Fitz said, fidgeting with the handle of his spinner suitcase. “You not coming home with me.”

He looked like he was itching to reach out and put his arm around her. Jemma could feel that desire too, but held back for his sake. He’d thought it best that they not appear too intimate once they landed; he didn’t want anyone at the airport to recognize him, snap a picture of them together, and run to the press the second they set foot back on British soil. The possibility was still there, of course, but at least this way they would appear much less damning. Fitz wanted to keep the paparazzi away from her for as long as possible.

“It is,” she murmured in response to his comment. “But we’re in an unusual situation, aren’t we? We’ll get it sorted soon.”

They’d discussed it on the plane, the things they needed to put in motion to get Jemma moved into Fitz’s house as soon as possible. They didn’t want to be apart any longer than necessary. First she had to break the news to Daisy and promise her an extra month’s worth of rent, and then she had to get all of her things packed while still going to work every day. Fitz said he had some cleaning he wanted to do around the house ahead of her moving in. After talking it over for an hour or so, they felt like they had a solid plan in place.

Fitz nodded and stopped just short of leaning in to kiss her cheek. Instead, he tightened his grip on his suitcase handle and started walking again. Jemma followed after him. “We’re still on for tomorrow night, yeah?” he asked. She’d invited him over to her flat for dinner and to introduce him to her roommate.

She nodded. “Yes, if you still want to come. And don’t worry, Daisy will love you.” At his dubious look, she added, “I promise, she will. She’s lovely, she can get along with just about anyone.”

Fitz’s expression turned rather droll. “Yes, my naturally sunny disposition will be sure to win her over.”

Jemma grinned and swatted at him with her free hand as they walked, weaving around slower-walking travelers. “You can be nice! When you want to be. You’re very charming with me. Obviously—you got me to marry you.”

That got Fitz to smile too, and she thought she saw his cheeks pinken with pleasure. “Yes, but I like you,” he told her. “You’re the exception, not the rule.”

“You’ll like Daisy, too,” Jemma asserted. “We’re actually very different, but she’s a likeable person. I can’t think of anyone who doesn’t like her.” She paused, then frowned. “Well, maybe her ex-boyfriend Miles.”

They kept up their chatter all the way to the Tube, where Jemma was happy to sit next to Fitz for the long ride into the city. As they approached his stop at Gloucester Road, however, she began to feel a sense of disquiet, like she was already missing him. They wouldn’t get to have a proper goodbye, not here in the middle of the Tube carriage.

“I’ll text you when I get home,” she told him quietly, leaning into his shoulder a bit. “Maybe FaceTime later?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Fitz glanced up as the train began to slow down, then lowered his voice even more. “Love you.”

Jemma’s heart swelled. “Love you, too,” she murmured, and reached out to give his knee a quick squeeze. It was the most she dared to do in public. He smiled at her, affection clear in his eyes, and squeezed her knee back before standing as the train pulled into the station.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said, and then the carriage doors opened and he disappeared into the swirl of passengers exiting onto the platform.

Alone for the first time in a week, Jemma spent the rest of her ride home in a sort of fog, her mind going back over everything that had happened since she’d met Fitz and how so much had changed—and how they were going to change even more moving forward. She thought about how she wanted to break the news that she was married and moving out to Daisy, who was not only her roommate but her best friend. She considered the best way to tell her _parents_. 

She sighed. She didn’t regret marrying Fitz in the slightest, but she couldn’t deny that as a result her life might be a bit of a headache for the next few weeks.

By the time she made it home to the small flat she shared with Daisy in Brixton, it was nearly late morning and she felt she would murder for a good cup of tea. She was glad to be home after so many hours of travelling. But first, she had to face her friend. 

Coming into the entry, she could hear the telly on in the lounge and was glad to know Daisy was up. Sometimes she was a late sleeper on the weekends. Leaving her bags in the hall for the time being, she hesitantly crept into the doorway to find Daisy sitting on the sofa eating a bagel with cream cheese spread. She looked up at Jemma’s entrance and made an excited noise, hurrying to finish chewing and swallow as she set the bagel down on the side table.

“Well, well, well!” she exclaimed with a wide smile, shifting to face her over the back of the sofa. “If it isn’t Jemma Simmons, finally dragging herself back from New York City after a wild week with her hot new boy toy!”

Jemma winced rather sheepishly. Trust Daisy to put a spin on it like _that_. How was she supposed to respond? Maybe there was just nothing else for it except to dive right in.

“Not just that,” she said, nervousness making her voice go a bit high. “A boy toy, I mean. He’s a bit more than that.” In lieu of words, she held up her left hand so Daisy could see the rings on her finger.

Daisy blinked. Then her jaw dropped open. “ _What_?” she shrieked. “You got _married_?!”

“Surprise?” Jemma squeaked.

“Wha—” Daisy lifted her hands like she wanted to pull at her hair. “I can’t believe this. You’ve only known him for a week!”

Jemma folded her right hand over her left, shielding the rings from view. “Aren’t you always telling me to be more spontaneous?” she mumbled, just a little defensively.

Her roommate gaped at her. “I meant like going out to clubs or bars, not spontaneously get _married_! God, he must be slinging _incredible_ dick if you married him after only—”

Jemma’s cheeks flushed bright red. “Daisy!” 

“Am I wrong?” When Jemma didn’t immediately reply, Daisy tutted and continued, “This isn’t like you. I know I asked this once before, but are you okay? You’re not, like… blinded by dollar signs or anything? I just can’t believe that my terrified-by-risk best friend went out and _eloped_.”

Jemma took a deep breath, reminded herself of the way Fitz looked at and held her, and tried to relax. “I know I seem mad,” she said. “But he’s…” She shook her head. “He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. I’ve never felt more at home with anyone before—except for you, of course,” she hastened to add, when Daisy affected an exaggerated pout. “He’s wonderful. And I love him.”

Daisy watched her for a moment, clearly thinking it all over, before beckoning her closer. “Let me see the rings.” Jemma came forward, holding out her hand, and Daisy took it in hers to peer down at them. “Wow, that’s a nice rock,” she whistled, gently twisting Jemma’s wrist so the diamond caught the sunlight coming through the window. “At least he did right by that.”

“Oh, the rings aren’t that important,” Jemma protested quietly.

“I guess not. Nice to know he’s spoiling you, though. He’s got that part right, at least.” Daisy sighed, dropping her hand, and looked up at her. “You’re really happy?”

“I am,” Jemma replied, suddenly feeling very emotional. “I really am.”

Daisy nodded and stood to pull her into a hug. “I’m going to miss you so much,” she mumbled into her shoulder. “Because, like—obviously this means you’re moving out.”

Jemma laughed despite herself. “I’m not moving to the other side of the planet!” she cried, giving Daisy a squeeze before stepping back and holding her at arm’s length. “Fitz lives in Kensington.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, of _course_. _Kensington_. That’s where all the fancy people live, right? I bet he has, like, this huge ten-bedroom house with maid service all to himself. That’ll be a big step up from here.”

Wrinkling her nose, Jemma shook her head. “Oh, no, I don’t think it’s _that_ big.” She paused. “I don’t know how big it is, actually, he didn’t say. Just that his dad lives with him.”

It was Daisy’s turn to make a face. “Oh god, living with the in-laws,” she groaned, sitting back down on the sofa and picking up her bagel. “Good luck with that.”

“He said his dad keeps to himself.” Jemma watched as Daisy took a big bite out of the bagel. “But if we can get along, of course that will be for the better. Anyway, I invited him over for dinner tomorrow. Fitz, that is. I want you to meet him.”

Daisy paused mid-chew and looked up with wide eyes. “ _Here_?” she cried, her voice muffled through a mouthful of bagel. “Oh my god, we can’t have a millionaire in this flat, it’s a _mess_.”

Jemma laughed again. “Don’t worry about that, we don’t have to make the flat spotless, Fitz isn’t very judgmental. About flats, anyway.” People could be a different story.

Daisy didn’t seem convinced, but after a moment she resumed chewing. “Have you told your parents yet?” she asked.

“No.” Jemma sighed. “Oh, that will be a headache.”

And it was. She managed to get both of her parents on speakerphone just after lunch, which she supposed was her first mistake—it put them on alert, fearing something was wrong. When she told them that everything was fine and wonderful, only she’d met an amazing man and gotten married, the shouting started.

“ _Jemma_!”

“You _what_?!”

“Is this a joke??”

“You couldn’t even wait to come home and include your family—”

“Do you even really know him?”

Jemma sighed as she stared down at her phone lying on the bed in front of her, which she had also put on speaker. “Yes. Yes, I promise I do. I know I sound mad, but I trust him. I trust him with everything.” She felt like she was repeating herself, but she supposed she should get used to it. “He’s—he’s wonderful. Nothing like the tabloids make him seem. I mean, _yes_ , he is a bit eccentric in some ways but he’s also kind and funny and witty and he loves me. And I love him. You’ll love him, too, once you meet him. And he is keen on meeting you.”

She heard her father sigh. “Didn’t he lose his wife—first wife now, pardon me—barely a year ago? Seems awfully quick to remarry.”

She shook her head even though her parents couldn’t see, brushing the question aside. “Grief processing comes in all forms, Dad. Fitz is fine. He hasn’t mentioned her and I haven’t brought it up. It would be a bit insensitive, no? He’s moved on and we shouldn’t question it. I’m sure if he wants to talk about her, he will when he’s ready.”

“We’ll just have to trust your word, I suppose,” said her mother, who still sounded extremely disappointed. “But I still don’t understand why you couldn’t wait to come home first, let us meet him, and have a proper ceremony in a church.”

“He didn’t want the press to find out about it and swarm the church,” Jemma told them. “I think it was actually a very reasonable precaution. He’s so well-known here, the media would have had a field day if they knew he was getting married.” She paused. “They’ll probably still have one when it eventually gets out.” But she didn’t want to think about that at the moment, so she pushed those thoughts away.

“But we still missed your _wedding_ ,” her mother persisted. “We’ll never get that back. Never get to see you walk down the aisle, or say your vows…”

A lump rose in Jemma’s throat which could only be guilt, but she didn’t want to be sorry about what she had done. She loved Fitz and was going to spend her life with him. They had time to make it up to her parents. “I have pictures!” she said. “We took some after the ceremony. I’ll text them to you.”

“We would really like that,” her father said.

Their conversation was slightly less fraught after that—her parents asked lots of questions regarding what Fitz was like, curious to know more about him past his public persona—though they did chide her for not getting a prenup. It was the reasonable thing to do marrying such a wealthy man, her mother said. To Jemma, it just sounded like her parents were convinced her marriage wouldn’t last.

She would just have to prove them wrong.

By the time they all finally said their goodbyes and hung up, Jemma was mentally exhausted. Her parents hadn’t taken the news as well as she’d hoped, but at least it hadn’t been a complete disaster. They hadn’t disowned her. But then again, who would disown their daughter for marrying one of the richest men in Britain?

Flopping backward onto her pillow, she held her phone up and sent a text to Fitz.

_[Jemma]: Told my parents. Didn’t go well, but not so bad either. They want to meet you_

Then she rolled onto her side and listened to the faint sounds of the telly drifting in from the lounge until her phone buzzed in her hands a few minutes later.

 _[Fitz]: is that good? I hope it’s good  
_ _[Fitz]: my mum yelled for a few minutes but I think she’s mostly happy that I’m happy. she wants to meet you too_

Jemma grinned. He’d told her a little about his mother on the flight home and she could only imagine an older, female version of Fitz shouting at her son down the phone. It was a little amusing. At least she was happy.

_[Jemma]: How did your dad take it?_

_[Fitz]: he didn’t say a damn thing. just grunted and took his beer upstairs. miserable arse_

She frowned. He had mentioned he didn’t get along well with his father and had only taken him in to keep him out of trouble. Apparently they had mutually agreed to stay out of each other’s way and as a result had a relatively peaceful house. Fitz had assured her that once she moved in she’d hardly ever see his father since he spent so much time either at the pub or watching telly. Still, she’d thought that the news his son had remarried might at least warrant a comment.

_[Jemma]: Well, I’ll meet him soon so there’s that at least_

_[Fitz]: yeah. how did Daisy take it?_

_[Jemma]: Mostly well. She wants to clean the whole flat before you come over tomorrow_

_[Fitz]: LOL  
_ _[Fitz]: tell her not to worry. she never saw my flat when I was first starting out_

That made Jemma crack a grin. It was amusing to know that he fell into the stereotype of just about every single bachelor everywhere, but perhaps now that he was older, had been married before, and had a house to keep he was more mindful. She grinned as she tapped at her phone.

 _[Jemma]: Good to know you’ve cleaned up a bit  
_ _[Jemma]: I’ve got to go finish unpacking and start the wash. Talk to you later tonight?_

_[Fitz]: yeah. I’ll ring you after dinner, how’s that?_

_[Jemma]: Perfect. I love you_

Fitz’s reply came back immediately.

_[Fitz]: love you too. can’t wait to see your face again_

Even though they’d only just parted that morning, his response made Jemma smile. She was eager to see him again, too. It was so strange, being married yet living separately. But no matter—if she kept busy, time would pass quickly and she would see Fitz again before she knew it. She set her phone down on her bedside table and stood. It was time to do some chores.

-:- 

Fitz arrived the following evening promptly at 6:30 p.m. on the nose. Jemma immediately stood from the sofa to go buzz him in, but Daisy beat her to it. She was all smiles as she let him in their front door.

“Hello, hello,” she said as she showed Fitz into the lounge. “Welcome to our humble little abode.” But he wasn’t looking around; he had eyes only for Jemma, who was headed straight for him. A smile broke over his face and he opened his arms, welcoming her into a tight hug. She closed her eyes as she buried herself against him, unable to keep from smiling, too. It had been less than two days since she’d last seen him in person, but it still felt too long. Now she felt like she was home again.

“Missed you,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

Fitz tightened his arms around her. “Missed you, too.” 

“Ew,” Daisy muttered as she stepped past them. “You guys are so sweet it’s sickening. You aren’t going to start making out right in front of me, are you?”

Fitz released Jemma and gave her an uncertain look, clearly not wanting to misstep in front of her roommate, but Jemma just laughed. “No, we’re not going to snog each other silly, but I don’t think one kiss is out of order.” With that, she turned back to Fitz and leaned in to give him a soft, brief kiss.

When she turned back around, Daisy was still making an exaggerated face. “He’s my husband,” she laughed. “You can’t expect me not to kiss him.”  
  
“Yeah, that,” Daisy said, her expression morphing into a grin. “It’s still so weird to think that you’re married now.” She looked at Fitz. “And I’m so used to seeing pictures of you online, having you right here in person… well, that’s kind of weird, too.”

Fitz shuffled his weight from side to side a bit, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I mean, I’m… I’m just a person.”

Daisy’s smile widened. “Yeah, I can see that.” She paused. “Hey, Jemma said you liked Indian, so we made some curry for dinner. Feel like trying it?”

Fitz brightened back up. “Is that what I smell?” He looked hopefully toward the kitchen, which took up the far wall of the combined lounge/kitchen space. “It smells delicious. Yeah, I love a curry, it’s one of my favorites.”

Jemma laughed. “Don’t be too hasty. I fancy myself a good cook, but I’ve never tried a proper curry before. We’ve always just done takeaway.” She left Fitz to walk over to the kitchen, where a covered saucepan was sitting on the stovetop. “But I think it turned out alright.”

Daisy rolled her eyes. “Cooking is science to Jemma,” she said. “It’s probably perfect.”

Fitz had followed Jemma over to the stove, rubbing his hands together. “Well, like I said, if it tastes anything like it smells, there will be no complaints from me.”

The curry _did_ turn out well, as did the saag paneer (which Jemma had to encourage Fitz to eat, as he wasn’t big on greens), though the naan they’d picked up from the Sainsbury’s across the street was a little dry. But Jemma was happy. Fitz was there, and he and Daisy seemed to be getting on smashingly even though she was giving him the third degree. She asked him plenty of questions about the future of his company, if he would be home enough to be a good partner to Jemma, if he wanted kids—Jemma felt a sharp tug on her heart when he blushed and stammered that he did—and how he planned on spoiling her.

Fitz answered all of her questions easily and didn’t seem offended by any of them. If anything, he sounded eager to divulge all the ways he planned on making Jemma happy. It made her heart swell with love and affection, and if they’d been alone she would have smothered him with kisses. Everything was still fresh and new between them, quite literally in the honeymoon phase, but she knew this was forever, and Fitz’s answers to Daisy’s grilling only solidified that feeling. She’d found her soulmate and they were going to grow old together.

“I wish I didn’t have to go home,” Fitz said, his arms around her as he prepared to leave later that night.

“You could always stay,” she said, her arms snug around his waist. Part of her hoped he’d take her up on the offer, but she already knew the answer.

“If we didn’t have to work tomorrow, I would,” he replied, and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Maybe next weekend? Before we get you moved in?”

Daisy looked up at them from her seat on the sofa. “Just as long as you guys, like, keep it quiet. I love you, Jemma, but I don’t need to hear you two hard at work on creating the next generation of geniuses.”

“ _Daisy_ ,” Jemma scolded her. “We would never.”

“Speak for yourself,” Fitz mumbled. Daisy cackled, which made Jemma blush and clutch at Fitz even more. He grinned. “It was nice to meet you, Daisy. Thanks for dinner. I’ll see you soon, I guess?”

“Yup,” Daisy confirmed. “I’m definitely helping her move in at least.”

Fitz nodded. “Alright, yeah. Of course. Goodnight, then.” He pulled Jemma out into the entryway and immediately cupped her face in his hands to give her a long, sweet kiss.

“I really do hate leaving,” he said when he pulled away, resting his forehead on hers.

“I know.” Jemma sighed, closing her eyes briefly as she soaked in his nearness, already feeling the ache of missing him again. “But it won’t be for too long. I started packing a few things today and I’ll keep at it. We’ll be together soon.”

Fitz nodded. “And then we’ll actually be proper married, instead of…” He laughed. “Whatever it is we’re doing now.”

“The consequences of eloping,” Jemma agreed. Then she sobered and pressed back into him. “Soon,” she repeated. 

“Yeah,” Fitz murmured. “Soon.”

They stood that way in the entry for longer than a normal hug should have lasted, both of them reluctant to separate. After living in such an intense bubble together in New York, it was difficult. But Jemma told herself that they could get through it. Things might seem terrible now, but it would be worth it. A week or two would be small potatoes compared to the rest of their lives.


	8. Chapter 8

It wasn’t as though Jemma was ashamed of her marriage to Fitz—far from it—but she had still hoped to keep their relationship under wraps for as long as possible to curtail any awkward questions or nosy reporters. That hope was dashed almost straight away at work the following Monday when Kenneth noticed her rings.

She was sitting at her computer station going through her morning emails and had not yet slipped her rings onto the silver chain she was wearing around her neck to keep them from snagging on the nitrile gloves she used for her lab work. That was her first mistake, she would tell herself later. She should have just come in to work with the rings already hidden beneath her blouse.

Kenneth passed behind her carrying a small stack of file folders, ostensibly headed for the outgoing tray for the lab techs to process later. Jemma sensed rather than saw him stop just a step past her chair and do a double-take. “Holy shit,” he hissed. “No way. You _married_ him?!”

She spun in her seat to face him, her right hand moving to protectively cover her left. He hadn’t said anything about her week away from the lab aside from being glad she was back, but that was evidently over. “I—well,” she stammered, then lifted her chin and pushed her shoulders back. “Yes, I did. Keep your voice down, please.”

Her entreaty to be quiet seemed to sail straight over Kenneth’s head. “Unbelievable,” he said, still goggling at her. “I never took you for a gold digger, but I guess even you’ve still got some surprises left in you.”

Jemma’s cheeks flushed crimson. “ _Kenneth_! I did not marry him for his money!”

He propped one fist on his hip. “Why else would you?” he asked, looking genuinely baffled.

If it were possible, Jemma’s cheeks burned even hotter, and it wasn’t all from embarrassment. “Is it so unreasonable to think that I married him because I love him? Because we love each other?”

“Honestly? _Yes_.”

She scoffed and swiveled in her seat to face her computer again. “Well, we do.”  
  
Kennth didn’t take the hint to leave and stayed where he was. “All I’m saying is, normal people don’t get married within a week of meeting each other. Maybe _you_ really do love him, but are you sure he’s not trying to overcompensate?”

That got Jemma to look back up over her shoulder at him, a frown creasing her face. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged expressively, clutching his files tighter. “He was so upset when his wife died,” he said. “First wife now, I guess. All the papers said he barely left his house for weeks. That wasn’t even a year ago, and now he’s remarried again? Just feels really sudden, that’s all.” He shrugged again and turned to resume his walk to the outgoing tray, leaving Jemma to frown even deeper and twist her rings around her finger.

Why did everyone want to bring up Fitz’s late wife? First her father had, and now Kenneth. Even Daisy had mentioned her. But Jemma was certain that Fitz was fine; he didn’t seem at all like a man still grieving, and she was sure she would have noticed if he was covering it up. No, he was one hundred percent genuine. He loved her and _that_ was why he’d married her.

Maybe no one believed her now, but they would given time. She and Fitz would show them.

She never saw Kenneth gossipping with anyone else at the lab like she knew he tended to do, but she still fancied she noticed some of her coworkers staring at her when she went to the staff break room for lunch that afternoon. There was definitely more than one curious look at her left hand, but she’d already safely hidden her rings away on her necklace so she could do her practical work. She could tell that Sally from the lab next door desperately wanted to say something and was only just holding herself back, but Jemma decided against asking if something was the matter. Discretion was the better part of valor, and all. She knew Fitz wasn’t ashamed of their marriage either, but all the same he probably wouldn’t be thrilled if she told him she’d announced their nuptials to half the staff at Bioworks.

As long as no one asked her questions outright, she would go about her daily work routine as she always had and not let the change in her personal life affect anything.

-:-

Jemma was able to pack up all of her belongings to be ready to move in with Fitz by the second weekend after they returned from New York. Fitz hired a remover service to haul everything from Brixton to Kensington, and Daisy came along to help get it all unpacked.

Fitz lived in a beautiful, pale stucco row house on a quiet street not too far from Kensington Palace. Jemma had visited a few times over the past two weeks and immediately fallen in love; it was spacious but comfortable and lived-in, nothing like the overly sterile home she’d expected from a fabulously wealthy individual such as her husband. Then again, Fitz had been subverting her expectations ever since she’d met him.

He’d cheerfully given her the grand tour on her first visit: there were two lounges on the ground floor, one a little more formal than the other, and the kitchen was downstairs on the lower ground floor. Said kitchen was the size of the entire kitchen-and-lounge combo she’d had in Brixton with gorgeous ivory wood cabinetry and a tiled backsplash, double fridge, and stacked ovens; Jemma couldn’t wait to start cooking in it. The master suite took up the entire first floor; the second floor held the utility room, Fitz’s office, and his father’s room along with a second bathroom; and the top floor was just a guest room with its own bathroom as well. There was a small back garden, too, where Jemma could see herself enjoying a nice cup of tea on the weekend if the weather permitted.

The only thing missing was Fitz’s father. She’d still yet to meet the man; he’d made himself scarce every time she’d come to see Fitz, always down at the pub or locked away in his room.

“Eh, it’s for the best,” Fitz had said, unconcerned. “He’s a miserable sod.”

Her elusive father-in-law was the last thing on her mind, however, as she and Daisy walked up the pavement to her new home, having taken the Tube up from Brixton. The remover’s van was already parked at the curb out front of the house, and Fitz was visible next to it talking to one of the men while the other lifted a box out of the back.

“Wow, so this is you?” Daisy called out as they drew closer. “Nice digs.”

Fitz shot her a gently exasperated look, his hands on his hips, but Jemma thought she saw a hint of pride, too. “It’s not the ten-bedroom palatial manse Jemma told me you expected,” he said dryly, “but I think it’s alright.”

Daisy stopped next to him and squinted up at the house through the leaves of the maple tree growing in the front garden. “I mean, _yeah_. You could fit at least two of my apartments in there. Maybe three. Ooh, is that yours, too?”

She pointed to the sporty red BMW convertible that had just caught her eye, parked on the far side of the remover’s van. This time, Fitz really did puff up with pride.

“Yeah, that’s mine. It’s, ah—” He tugged on his ear. “That was sort of a gift to myself for, you know, making it big.”

Daisy whistled as she stepped closer, running a finger along the trim, and Jemma smiled at Fitz. “Nice gift,” Daisy said. “I’d totally get myself a nice car too, if I were rich. Do I even want to know how much this cost?”

“Um--hmm.” Fitz cut his eyes over to Jemma. “Probably not.”

It didn’t take the removers long to bring in all of the boxes—with an already-full house, Jemma had left all of her furniture at the flat for the next tenant to use—and soon Fitz, Jemma, and Daisy had cracked open beers and gotten started on unpacking. There was plenty of room in the walk-in closet that connected the master bedroom to the bathroom for all of her clothes, and Fitz had made space for her books on various shelves throughout the house. Some of the specialized cookware she’d decided to keep was stowed in the kitchen, and knick-knacks found a home in the cozier, less-formal lounge.

It was a small thing, maybe, but seeing her things alongside Fitz’s in the house lit a warmth inside Jemma’s heart. This was _their_ home now, and they were going to make a life together. She knew it would take her a little while to really settle in and get comfortable, but that was alright. She and Fitz wouldn’t have to spend another night apart, and that was what mattered.

She was with Fitz in the lounge rearranging books and various odds and ends on the built-in shelves that flanked his large flatscreen telly when they heard the front door open, followed by steps in the entryway. Jemma looked over to see an older man of average height similar to Fitz’s appear in the open archway into the lounge, wearing a light jacket and a rather severe frown on his face. He stopped when he saw them, his eyes raking her over. 

“Is this her?” he asked gruffly.

Next to her, Fitz visibly stiffened. “Yes, this is Jemma,” he said, placing a light hand at the small of her back, and she could tell he was keeping his voice carefully measured. “My new wife.” He looked at her. “Jemma, this is my father, Alistair.”

There was a very pointed way to how Fitz spoke, but that wasn’t Jemma’s immediate concern. She focused on the man in front of her—Fitz’s father—who was looking at her with a clearly critical expression. Wanting to make a good first impression, she inhaled and smiled warmly at him before crossing the room to offer him her hand. “Hi,” she said, with all the kindness she could muster. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

Alistair didn’t take her hand. Instead he looked her over again, at her jeans and her worn tee and her faded Converse sneakers, and sniffed. Then he reached out to pick up her left hand instead of her right and peered down at the rings on her fourth finger.

“It’s not as big as Ophelia’s was,” he said, nodding at the diamond on her engagement ring.

Jemma blinked. That was the last thing she’d expected him to say—it hadn’t even been on her radar—and she wasn’t sure how to respond. Glancing back at Fitz in hopes of guidance, she found that his jaw had gone tight, his face a blank mask.

“Don’t you have a footie match to go yell at or something?” he asked tersely.

Jemma looked back to Alistair, feeling like she was caught between father and son, awkward and helpless to defuse the situation. She worried that a fight might ensue—Fitz _had_ said he and his father didn’t get along, and he was being rather aggressive—but Alistair simply dropped her hand with a loud _hmph_. 

“Disrespectful,” he muttered, and turned to head for the stairs going down to the kitchen.

Jemma watched him go, then turned back to Fitz. He looked anxious, uncomfortable, almost angry. She didn’t know what to make of the exchange; did it matter that her ring wasn’t as big as his first wife’s? A funny sort of feeling was rolling in the pit of her stomach. It didn’t matter to _her_. After all, she was the one who had told Fitz she didn’t need a large ring, that she would be happy with something small and simple. But suddenly, she thought it might matter if it mattered to Fitz. If there was a reason Ophelia’s ring had been larger than hers.

 _What_ reason, she couldn’t fathom. But even though she knew it was silly, she couldn’t shake the nervous feeling from her gut.

Taking in a deep breath, she walked back toward her husband. “Fitz,” she said carefully, “It’s alright—”

“No, it doesn’t matter,” he said, cutting in over her and uncrossing his arms, shaking his head. “He’s just a miserable, jealous old sod.”

Jemma stopped next to him, reaching out to lay a light hand on his arm. “I’m still sorry.”

Fitz gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t worry about him. Promise.”

She was ready to tell him that she quite liked her ring and didn’t feel the need to compare when Daisy bounced into the room, out of breath. “Hey!” she said. “I just finished getting the last of Jemma’s clothes hung up. What next?”

That broke the spell of whatever ill mood Fitz’s father had put him in; Fitz brightened up and directed Daisy to help them get the rest of Jemma’s books shelved, and after that it seemed like the whole thing was forgotten. The three of them worked together to get the last of Jemma’s things unpacked, and none of them saw hide nor hair of Alistair again.

By the time they finished, it was late in the afternoon. “Do you want to stay for dinner?” Fitz asked Daisy. “I’ll cook.”

She smiled apologetically. “I would love to hang out more, but I’ve actually got a hot date tonight.”

“Oh that’s right,” Jemma said, eagerly turning to her friend. “You told me about this. It’s that man from work, yeah? What did you say his name was?”

“Daniel,” Daisy replied. “He’s over in Communications. We’ve been flirting non-stop for a month, and _he_ asked _me_ out. I’ve got high hopes.”

Fitz grinned. “Well, good luck. Especially since you’ve got your whole flat to yourself for the next couple of weeks.”

“Yeah, I know, right?” Daisy looked excited. “It’s all clean now and everything. Anyway—I was so glad to help today. Fitz, you have a beautiful home, and Jemma, I’m very jealous that you get to live here.” She gave Jemma a hug, then offered one to Fitz as well. After a slight hesitation, he returned it. Jemma grinned to see her two favorite people getting along so well. “But I’ve got to head home now and get ready to knock Daniel’s socks off.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Jemma teased, walking Daisy to the front door. “You’re gorgeous.”

After they saw Daisy off, Fitz and Jemma went downstairs to the kitchen to grab another drink from the fridge. “I could cook for _you_ ,” Fitz said, leaning against the island with his beer held casually in one hand. “You know, as sort of a welcome, house-warming type thing.”

A pulse of affection hit Jemma in the chest. “That would be very sweet of you. Do you cook often?” She looked around the kitchen, marveling once again at the size of it, the gleaming marble countertops, the pristine Aga. “I hope so. It would be a shame to let this lovely kitchen go to waste.”

“I do, sometimes,” he replied, scratching at his neck. “But it’s not all that easy, cooking for one. Mostly, I just do takeaway or frozen meals.”

Jemma decided it was probably better not to ask how his father ate, figuring he fended for himself, but she couldn’t help but wonder if Ophelia had ever cooked. If she’d made meals for the two of them—or all three; Jemma didn’t know when Alistair had moved in. She wondered if Fitz had liked it, and if he missed it.

She blinked once to shoo the thoughts away. That didn’t matter now. “Well, we’ll just have to change that, won’t we?” she said, stepping closer to him. “Now that there’s two of us. I love to cook, and this kitchen is a dream. I can’t wait to make myself at home here.”

“Yeah?” A small smile had bloomed on Fitz’s face. “I mean, don’t feel like you _have_ to or like you’re my personal chef now or anything, or that I expect you to since we’re married—”

Jemma laughed and reached out to put a hand on his arm, stopping him. “No! I don’t. I promise, I really enjoy cooking. It’s like science, remember?” 

“Ah yes, that’s right. Daisy said.” Fitz’s grin widened and he took a sip of his beer. “Well, obviously you are allowed full run of the kitchen, but I’ll cook tonight. It’s the least I can do for you.”

He wound up making a fairly basic casserole, which he said was special because he used the expensive, spicy sausage he’d had sitting in the freezer. Jemma let it pass without comment and only suggested a few spices for him to add in, which he thankfully had on hand in his rather impressive spice rack. Given his comments on cooking, that must have been an Ophelia thing, Jemma guessed. But the casserole turned out well and even though it was simple, she loved it because Fitz had made it for her. 

When bedtime rolled around, the mood was almost giddy mixed with a hint of shyness. They were thrilled to finally be together for good, happy to share a bed again, but Jemma was a newcomer into Fitz’s familiar space and she was still treading a bit lightly. He seemed fully dedicated to making sure she was comfortable, though. He asked if she had room for all of her things at the double vanity in the bathroom—she told him there was plenty of space—and when she emerged back into the bedroom, teeth brushed and face washed, he caught her around the waist and pulled her into a firm, passionate kiss.

“Oh—hello,” Jemma mumbled happily in between kisses, a little surprised by his enthusiasm. “Excited to see me?”

“Very,” Fitz replied, then kissed her again. “We’re finally in the same house and now—” Another kiss. “I don’t have to spend another night alone.”

She laughed against his lips, then obligingly stepped backward when he nudged at her, steering her toward the large four-poster bed. “You’re right, that is a very strong point in favor of me being here.” She leaned in for a long kiss, humming when he swept his tongue against the seam of her lips to beg for entry. When she bumped up against the side of the bed, she indulged herself and let their kiss spin out for a glorious, heady moment before breaking it to lean back and smile at him.

“So,” she asked mischievously, “have you got any plans to give me a proper welcome?”

Fitz grinned widely back at her. “I might,” he said, and bent down to scoop her up into his arms. Jemma let out a shriek of delight, but she only had a second to cling to him before he deposited her onto the bed. She bounced once on the plush mattress, and then Fitz was climbing on after her, pressing her down into the sheets. “So it’s a welcome you want, yeah?” he asked, voice husky and face an inch from hers.

Her heart beating fast, Jemma could only beam up at him. “Yes,” she breathed. “I’ve missed you.”

Fitz grinned again. “Then a welcome you will get,” he said, and leaned down to kiss her, slow and deep, but brimming with heat.

It turned into the best welcome home she could have asked for.

-:-

The next morning, Jemma was looking through the fridge and the pantry with a slight frown. Fitz hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he subsisted mainly on takeaway and frozen meals; the main contents of the fridge were cartons of leftovers, things for sandwiches, and an alarming amount of beer that he said was mostly his father’s. There weren’t a lot of dry goods in the pantry, either. Horrified, she decided a grocery run was in order.

“Well, you’ve got your pick,” Fitz said from his spot at the cozy little booth tucked into the bay window at the head of the kitchen, where he was nursing the remains of his breakfast tea. “There’s plenty of grocers around here. There’s a Marks & Spencer up on the high street…”

Jemma squawked as she shut the pantry door. “Oh, now that’s too posh. Is that where you usually go? I don’t know if I could live with myself if I did my grocery shopping at a M & S. My mum would tell me I’m getting airs.”

Fitz laughed. “No, I don’t get up that way much except if I have to run by the bank. There’s some clothes shops there you might like, though.” He took a sip of his tea. “Where did you do your grocery shopping in Brixton?”

“We had the Sainsbury’s Local across the street from the flat,” Jemma replied. “Very convenient. And affordable.”

He nodded. “We’ve got one of those, too, but it’s a bit of a walk. I just use the Waitrose down on Gloucester Road. It’s right next to the Tube station. Really convenient if I need to pick something up on the way in from work.”

“Ahhh.” Jemma nodded once as well in understanding. “Waitrose is where you go when you just want to _look_ posh.” Fitz made a face at her, aware she was teasing, and she grinned as he took another sip of his tea. “Right. So Waitrose it is. Need me to pick up anything in particular?”

Fitz thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.” Then he paused. “Also… don’t be afraid to splurge a bit, if you want to. If you think of something you want to make and it takes some special ingredients, or you just want something nice. Like the twelve quid bottle of wine rather than the six. Lord knows we can afford it.” He smiled at her.

Jemma nodded again, slowly absorbing that thought. It was definitely going to take some adjusting to, the knowledge that she now had buckets of money to spend—Fitz had added her to his bank account while she still retained her own. Not that she would ever spend extravagantly. But the fact that she _could_ , if she wanted to, was going to take a while to sink in. Old habits like penny-pinching died hard. Maybe that was why Fitz didn’t spend a lot; he knew what it was like to be poor.

She went through the fridge and pantry again and typed up a basic grocery list on the notes app on her phone, giving herself permission to deviate but not go overboard so she wouldn’t struggle home with a large load of bags. She could pick some of the items up on her way in from work during the week. Fitz gave her directions to Gloucester Road from the house, gave her a kiss, and then she was off.

It was a beautiful, sunny morning, and Jemma couldn’t help but smile as she set off down the pavement. Her new neighborhood really was nice; there were the nearly-identical pale stucco terraced houses on Fitz’s side of the street, and a slightly more eclectic mix of brownstone homes on the opposite side. At the end of the road that Jemma was headed towards there was a beautiful old Anglican church with an assortment of flowering trees and shrubs in its small grounds. She could imagine how lovely it might look in full bloom during the spring months.

She was so caught up in looking at the churchyard and the surrounding houses that she didn’t notice she was being followed until she turned the corner.

“Excuse me! Excuse me,” a sharp voice called out behind her. Jemma turned to see two young men approaching, close on her heels. One had a large, expensive-looking camera dangling from a strap around his neck. “Excuse me,” the other one repeated, a deceptively casual tone to his voice. “Are you the woman who moved into number 7 yesterday?”

Jemma was so surprised she actually stopped walking, her jaw dropping slightly. “Er--what?” she stammered.

A predatory gleam entered the man’s eye, like a hunter closing in on his catch. “We saw someone move in yesterday, a lady who looks like you,” he said. “We were just curious if it was really you.”

Jemma eyed them suspiciously and inched away. She didn’t think any of her new neighbors would be hanging about waiting for her, especially with a professional-grade camera. These men—most likely paparazzi, a thought that gave her a fair amount of panic—must think she was stupid.

“No comment,” she said shortly, and turned on her heel to speed off down the pavement as fast as she could go without running.

“Hey!” the man cried, and she heard footfalls behind her, along with what she swore was the click of a camera shutter. “We just want to ask a few questions!”

“Leave me alone,” she called over her shoulder. Definitely paparazzi. How did they know? Had the movers tipped them off? Had a nosy neighbor phoned the press? How had these men known to stake out her new home and pounce on her the first time she left? Frightened and close to panicking, Jemma hurried for the end of the street and the narrow staircase set into the brick wall by the church that Fitz had told her about, which led to the mews that connected his neighborhood to Gloucester Road.

Had she reacted badly? What would Fitz have said? Should she have denied everything and said she hadn’t in fact just moved in? That she was an old resident? So many thoughts and questions circled her head as she clattered down the brick steps and into the mews, hoping it would give her a chance to escape from her harassers. But they doggedly kept their pace, following her into the mews and asking more questions.

“You moved into the Fitz house, yeah?” the man called, skipping once to try and catch up with her. “Are you his sister, a cousin? We didn’t think he had any close young relatives. You sound English… his girlfriend, maybe?”

Jemma opted to say nothing at all and kept hurrying down the mews instead. Silence and giving them nothing to go off either way seemed like the best option—she just hoped she was making the right decisions. Oh, why hadn’t she asked Fitz to come with her?

She was almost to the end of the mews, but the men chasing her were persistent. “When did you meet?” the one with the camera asked. “How long have you been seeing each other?”

She ducked her head and walked faster. Finally— _thank god—_ she exited the mews and turned onto Gloucester Road, a wide, busy street where she wouldn’t be able to be followed and harassed without attracting unwanted attention. To her immense relief, the paparazzi fell back once they followed her onto the road.

But they didn’t abandon her completely. Jemma kept checking over her shoulder as she walked down the street. They were still following her, but at a distance. It left her anxious and skittish, unable to fully concentrate on her surroundings and explore her new neighborhood. She was grateful when she found the modern Gloucester Arcade building with the Waitrose sign out front and hurried inside, hoping to get lost amongst the crowd of shoppers.

Even then, she couldn’t relax. She kept expecting those two men to jump out at her around every corner. It turned what should have been a pleasant experience into a very fraught one. She couldn’t spend any time deliberating over the cheese counter or produce, and she barely thought at all before picking up the first bottle of wine she saw. She was just too afraid of the paparazzi finding her again.

Once she’d paid for her groceries, Jemma lingered by the exit. Were they still out there, waiting for her to leave? Would they follow her all the way home? She knew she couldn’t stay there forever and needed to be brave, but it was hard when she’d never dealt with paparazzi before and was completely unprepared. Too late, she wished she and Fitz had talked it over more before she’d moved in.

After a few minutes of dithering, she took a deep breath and marched outside, shopping bags firmly in her grip. She was on high alert as she stepped back out onto the pavement, her eyes sweeping the area immediately around the Arcade in an effort to locate her pursuers.

She didn’t see them.

Jemma allowed herself a slight sigh of relief, but she didn’t completely lower her guard until she was back home and inside the house, feeling weak in the knees as she stumbled down the stairs to the kitchen with her bags, all of the adrenaline rushing out of her.

She’d been hoping to have a few moments to regain her composure, or maybe even find Fitz in the cozy sitting area beyond the formal dining table, but instead she found Alistair sitting at the window booth with some toast and tea. He looked up at her arrival, and she tried her best to put on a cheerful face for him.

“Good morning,” she said pleasantly. “How are you?”

Alistair didn’t reply. He just watched as she dumped her bags on the island and started sorting through them to put all of the groceries away. It made her feel more than a bit self-conscious; she couldn’t really gauge his mood or _why_ he was watching her in silence, but it put her on edge. For the first time, she understood why he and Fitz might not get along.

She had just put a pack of boneless chicken breasts in the fridge to keep for cooking that evening when he finally spoke. “Ophelia liked Whole Foods,” he said.

Jemma paused in the midst of reaching into a bag for the bunch of asparagus she’d bought and looked over at him, a little thrown. He was still watching her with a completely blank expression, but there was something critical in his eyes that made her want to squirm—as though she’d done something wrong. “Fitz suggested I go to Waitrose,” she replied, out of a lack of anything else to say.

Alistair hummed softly, seeming to consider that. “There’s a Whole Foods up on the high street,” he continued. “That’s where Ophelia shopped.”

Jemma stared at him for a moment, blinking helplessly, before turning back to her groceries. She had no idea how to respond to that. Fitz hadn’t mentioned Whole Foods when he’d named the choices of grocers to pick from. Had that been on purpose? Did he not _want_ her to go to Whole Foods? A wild, but perhaps not wholly unreasonable, thought struck her: did the idea of shopping at Whole Foods remind him of his late wife and therefore pain him so much that he no longer wanted to shop there?

It was just a grocery store.

But Jemma understood that grief could be funny, and different people coped with it in different ways. Still, the thinly-veiled judgment in Alistair’s tone left her feeling even more off than she already was. She continued unpacking her groceries in an awkward silence, and quietly thanked her lucky stars when Alistair stood to leave just as she was finishing up.

He ran into Fitz on the stairs, who gave him a sour look as he squeezed past him down the last few steps and into the kitchen. “Hey,” he said warmly to Jemma. “I was up in the office, I didn’t know you were back.” He leaned in to kiss her cheek. “How did everything go? Did you find the shop alright?” He must have seen something in her expression, because his face crinkled down into a little frown. “Is something wrong?” He glanced back at the stairs. “My father—he wasn’t being an arse, was he?”

The words caught in Jemma’s throat. Alistair hadn’t really bothered her, had he? He’d just been—odd. Said something strange. And it felt like the right choice to err on the side of caution and not bring up his first wife’s shopping habits. No, the thing that had really bothered her had been the paparazzi.

Her shoulders slumped as she gathered up the empty grocery bags. “No, it wasn’t him. I, um—I—well, I… I ran into some paparazzi while I was out.”

Fitz stared at her for a second; then his face clouded over and he swore softly, dropping a clenched fist on the island countertop. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “I didn’t think they’d find you out so quick. Jem, I’m sorry. C’mere.” He held his arms out to her and she gratefully went to him, sighing as he wrapped his arms around her. “How awful were they? I can ring my solicitor and have him send out a strongly-worded letter to the press.”

Somehow, Jemma didn’t think that would help. If anything, it would _really_ tip the press off to the fact that he was married now. But he probably knew better how to handle these things. She sighed again, snuggling deeper into his arms. “I don’t think they know we’re married,” she said. “First they asked if I was a cousin or close relative.” At Fitz’s answering snort, she smiled to herself and continued, “Then they asked if I was your girlfriend and how long we’d been together. I didn’t say anything other than telling them to leave me alone. I thought it best if I didn’t give them anything to go off at all.”

Fitz squeezed his arms around her. “That’s really the best way to go. Don’t give them anything.” He sighed, too. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could tell you that you’ll never be bothered by them, but… I can’t. It’s a sad, annoying reality of my life. They’re going to want to know all about you.”

Jemma turned that over in her mind as Fitz gently rocked them on their feet. It wasn’t that she hadn’t known the press would stick their noses into her life; it was just that this was her first real taste of it, and it was jarring. She would have to learn to thicken her skin fast, she supposed.

The Waitrose bags on the counter caught her eye again. The curious part of her still wondered if Fitz would have rather she’d gone to Whole Foods, but hadn’t been able to voice it. If it was what he was used to but, for whatever reason, didn’t want her shopping at the same place as his first wife.

She still couldn’t bring herself to put voice to the question. It still felt out of bounds.

But she wondered.


	9. Chapter 9

The Wednesday after she moved in with Fitz, Jemma was at the lab prepping tissue sample slides for analysis when her phone buzzed in her lab coat pocket. Thinking it was Daisy or Fitz—it was nearing lunchtime—she kept working, aiming to finish her slide prep before she took a break. Then her phone buzzed again, and _again_ , repeatedly until she could no longer ignore it.

Jemma sighed and sat back on her stool, tugging off her nitrile gloves before pulling her phone from her pocket. She was annoyed, but there was a thread of concern there, too. If someone was sending her rapid-fire texts, something might be wrong.

But when she thumbed through her lockscreen, she didn’t find texts from Daisy or Fitz _or_ her parents. Instead, she found… Twitter notifications. Dozens of them, along with several from Instagram and Facebook as well. Stumped, she tapped into the first app and found that she had suddenly gained a slew of new followers, and they all seemed to be tweeting at her.

_omg congratulations on the wedding!!!  
_ _you married Leo Fitz YOU LUCKY WOMAN  
_ _how could you get married just a year after his wife died? sounds sketchy if you ask me  
_ _don’t think for one second that you’re replacing Ophelia, you raggedy bitch. you’ll NEVER be as good as her  
_ _genius scientists marrying fellow genius scientists, we stan_

Jemma looked at each tweet with a mounting sense of horror. It seemed she’d been found out. The morning after she’d run into the paparazzi, the _Daily Mail_ had run an unflattering photograph of her hurrying down Gloucester Road with her groceries blaring the headline ‘ _NEW MYSTERY WOMAN IN LEO FITZ’S LIFE_ ’, but they hadn’t published her name. She’d counted herself lucky that they hadn’t found it. But it had obviously been published somewhere now. Why else would her social media be blowing up? 

She darted a quick glance around the lab, from Kenneth typing away at his computer station to the two junior lab techs cleaning equipment on the back bench. Could one of them have sold her out? Surely not—Kenneth _liked_ Fitz, and she’d always got on well with him ever since Kenneth had first been assigned as her labmate. And no one else at the lab knew who she’d spent her week in New York with, unless Kenneth had gossipped about it. Which _was_ a possibility.

Jemma narrowed her eyes at the back of Kenneth’s head. He looked so innocent, working on reports while completely oblivious to the buzzing phone in her hand. _Surely_ it wasn’t him. Maybe an old classmate had recognized her photo and decided to cash in, or the tabloids had access to facial recognition software—

Her phone buzzed again as a fresh wave of notifications came through, and Jemma nearly threw it down on the lab bench in a fit of anxiety. Unsure what to do and desperate for help, she did the first thing she could think of—she texted Daisy.

_[Jemma]: Help, I think my name has been published somewhere in the press and now my phone is out of control with people tagging me on social media. I don’t know what to do_

Notifications of new tweets, Instagram comments, and Facebook friend requests continued to come up while she typed. Jemma ignored them all even as her stress mounted. Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait long for Daisy’s reply.

_[Daisy]: oh shit. okay um i think the first thing you want to do is lock down your social media. go private_

Jemma winced. Private? But she really enjoyed discussing her work with other scientists and peers in the field on Twitter. Another sharp buzz from her phone made her grimace again. Well, she could set her Instagram to private, at least. That was mostly photos of her friends and family, with only a few from the lab. She brought the app up to go into the settings and lock down her account.

_[Daisy]: you need to reject all friend requests, probably softblock all the people who just followed you  
_ _[Daisy]: oh and turn off notifications so it doesn’t drain your battery_

Jemma grimaced at her phone again, feeling helpless. Her notifications were insane. Going through it all, rejecting and blocking everything, would take time. She could start to feel true panic creeping in. Fitz. She needed to talk to Fitz.

“Jemma? Texting on the clock?”

She looked up to see Anne Weaver, her boss, paused in the doorway to the lab watching her with a critical expression. She flushed guiltily. “Oh—just—just taking care of a little personal emergency,” she trilled, waving her phone.

Anne pursed her lips. She was a fair boss, but disliked anything that could be construed as neglecting one’s duties. “Alright. But try to keep it quick.”

She continued on down the hall, but her appearance had gotten Kenneth’s attention, who had turned away from his computer to look at Jemma. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Everything alright?”

Jemma frowned as she scrolled through the various social media apps on her phone, turning off notifications. She supposed she could tell him the truth. He knew about Fitz. “It appears my marriage status has made it to the press,” she said with a sigh.

“Ah.” Kenneth made a face. “I can’t believe it took them this long.”

She glanced at him sharply. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, like the answer should have been obvious to her. “He’s one of the richest, most famous men in Britain. He’s under a lot of scrutiny. I know you only just moved in with him, so I’m assuming there was some back-and-forth between houses, right? People pay to keep watch on men like him doing stuff like that.”

Jemma cut her eyes back to her phone as she started typing out a text to Fitz. “Yes, there was some back-and-forth,” she mumbled. “But anyone paid to watch his house would be bored. I don’t think he goes out much aside from work.”

“He used to go out plenty with Ophelia,” Kenneth said, swiveling in his chair to face his computer again.

She said nothing, just concentrated on texting Fitz. Then she slipped her phone into her lab coat pocket and tried to put it all out of mind so she could focus on her work.

Fitz didn’t reply until almost half past noon; that wasn’t unusual, as his work frequently kept him too busy for more than the occasional text during the day. Jemma felt her phone buzz while she was eating her lunch in the staff break room and actually flinched before she remembered she’d turned off notifications to almost everything other than texting. Realizing it might be Fitz, she quickly pulled her phone from her pocket to check.

_[Jemma]: Bad news. It seems my name has made the papers because my social media is going absolutely mad with people coming at me from all directions. I don’t really know what to do  
_ _[Fitz]: bloody hell, I’m so sorry, I only just now saw this. so sorry. do you need me to call? I’m on lunch now_

Jemma smiled softly before moving to reply.

_[Jemma]: No, you don’t have to. I texted Daisy. I’ve got all my notifications turned off and my Instagram set to private now, but it was all very overwhelming  
_ _[Fitz]: really, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think about it because I don’t do any of that stuff  
_ _[Fitz] but the company’s got social media, I can always go by PR and see if they’ve had any trouble. they field a lot of personal remarks_

That would certainly out their relationship at his office, but there was no use in hiding it now, was there? She fought the urge to groan as another thought occurred to her—she would likely be hearing from her parents soon. She could only imagine the calls they would be getting from friends and colleagues in the coming days. 

_[Jemma]: I hope they’re not getting too much trouble over it  
_ _[Fitz]: don’t worry about them, they can handle it :)  
_ _[Fitz]: are YOU okay?_

Jemma’s smile widened, but she immediately tamed it when she noticed a coworker giving her a curious look.

_[Jemma] I’m fine. I think I will be. I’m just eager to get home now  
_ _[Fitz] halfway there. love you_

She hurried to finish her lunch. Maybe she was just being paranoid, but she couldn’t help but feel like her coworkers were sneaking looks at her. Did they know now, too? Were they on Twitter, had they seen the incriminating online article? Better for her to escape to the safety of her lab before anyone approached her with nosy questions.

The feeling only got worse on the Tube ride home. There, everyone was busy reading tablets or phones or magazines, but Jemma swore she was getting looks again. It had been a few hours now; surely anyone with a newsfeed had caught wind at least in passing that Leo Fitz was a married man again and seen her photo and name. 

She’d given in to her own curiosity and searched it out; it had been the _Mail_ , _again_ , printing her name along with her age and an alarming amount of details regarding her past and personal life. Accompanying images included the staff photo they’d obviously nicked from Bioworks’ website and a few from her own Facebook. She’d set her account settings to private there, too, after that.

It was a very unnerving feeling, knowing that the whole of Britain and, indeed, the world now knew her face, name, and details of her personal life just because of who she’d married. It made her want to hide. Was this how Fitz felt every day, or was he used to it by now? Perhaps she would grow accustomed to it in time as well.

She hoped so. She couldn’t imagine feeling this scrutinized day in and day out.

Jemma couldn’t close the front door of the house behind her fast enough. Once she did, she leaned against it and let out a deep sigh. She was home now; she was safe. Prying eyes wouldn’t find her here.

After dumping her bag by the sofa in the living room, she went downstairs to the kitchen. She was a little surprised to find Alistair sitting at the window booth eating a sandwich and drinking a beer. Giving him a small smile, she went past him to the fridge. He watched her.

“You look upset,” he said after a minute.

Jemma paused in her search of the fridge for a small snack. She still hadn’t seen much of her father-in-law since moving in; he was always either out at the pub or shut away in his room. The few times she’d seen him out, he and Fitz had been borderline hostile to each other. Obviously they didn’t get along, but she wanted to at least _try_ to have a civil relationship with him. For familial harmony, and all that. It couldn’t hurt to be honest with him.

“I suppose I am, a bit,” she said, looking aside at him. “It’s been rather a rough day.”

Alistair nodded sagely and took a sip of his beer. “Your name got published in the press, didn’t it?” he asked. “I thought I saw something on the news ticker at the pub.”

Jemma fought the urge to groan. It was on the _telly_? Oh, for crying out loud… she was going to have to tell Fitz they might need to avoid the evening news.

“It did,” she said instead, pulling a bottle of vitamin water from the fridge and shutting the door. “Though I’m not sure what I expected. It was going to get out eventually.”

Alistair was still watching her, his eyes sharp and focused. “And it upset you?”

She nodded, feeling a little uncomfortable under his scrutiny, and fiddled with her water bottle. “Well… yes. I’ve never liked being the center of attention or being made a spectacle of. Especially due to my personal life.”

Alistair’s expression morphed into something she couldn’t quite read. “Ophelia never minded it,” he said mildly. “She loved all the attention.”

Yes, Jemma thought, vague recollections of all the times she’d seen the other woman pop up in the media flashing through her mind. She had. She’d always been smiling in the paparazzi photos and event pictures that were splashed all over the internet and various magazines. Funny that Fitz, a man who so obviously valued his privacy, would fall in love with a woman who adored being in the public eye. But opposites attracted and all that, they said. 

She wasn’t Ophelia though, and while she and Fitz weren’t exactly opposites, she thought they attracted each other rather well. “Maybe I’ll learn to love it more like she did, given time,” she said, and gave Alistair a small smile before turning to head back upstairs.

She could feel his eyes tracking her until she turned the stairwell corner, out of sight.

Upstairs, Jemma tried to settle down on the sofa to watch telly until Fitz got home, but she couldn’t quite shake her lingering sense of unease from the Tube. The tall windows that overlooked the street were covered by sheer curtains, and her overactive mind was conjuring images of paparazzi and reporters alike lining up on the pavement across the street, ready with cameras to catch any sign of movement from within the house. After a few minutes of shifting restlessly on the sofa, she escaped upstairs to the bedroom.

That was where Fitz found her when he arrived home, some ten minutes or so after she’d changed into her pajamas and propped the pillows up against the headboard to settle down, turning on the large flatscreen mounted to the wall above the fireplace. “Hey,” he said, his face lighting up when he saw her, and came over to drop a kiss on her forehead before leaving his messenger bag at the foot of the bed and reaching up to start tugging at his tie. “How did the rest of your day go?”

Jemma watched him drape his tie over one of the little tie trees he had hanging inside the first door on his side of the walk-through closet. “It was a lot quieter once I followed Daisy’s advice and shut everything off and locked all of my accounts down,” she said. “But it’s still all very strange. I don’t know how to feel about it.”

Fitz grimaced as he undid his cuffs. “I really am sorry,” he said. “It’s an unavoidable part of being in my life. You just… you learn to tune it out, after a while.”

“I will. I’m sure I will. I don’t know why I’m so shocked, really.” Jemma continued to watch as Fitz unbuttoned his crisp windowpane-pattern shirt and shrugged out of it, leaving him in his plain white undershirt. The comforting domesticity of watching him undress at the end of the day was soothing her, putting her more back to rights. “I’ve just never been the subject of such widespread public scrutiny before. My Twitter feed is roughly half very accepting, half horribly vicious and bitter.”

She’d tried not to think about the bad ones—the ones saying she would never replace Ophelia, that she wasn’t good enough or beautiful enough for Fitz—after all, they were all from strangers who didn’t know her _or_ Fitz. But the comments still stung a little. 

Fitz, who had kicked off his socks and was now dropping his trousers into the hamper that sat next to the open closet door, leaving him in just his undershirt and boxer-briefs, made another face. “Yeah, there’s nothing really to be done about the nasty ones,” he said. “People think they can say whatever they want online. It’s a disease.” Setting his wallet down on the mantel, he pursed his lips. “What was the advice PR gave me once when I thought about getting a Twitter? Set it so you just get notifications from your followers? It cuts most of the crap, so they say.”

Jemma frowned. “I like engaging with the scientific community, though. It keeps me up-to-date on news and trends, and I like the discussion.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Fitz smiled, then walked over to reach out and take her face in his hands, pressing another kiss to her forehead, followed by her cheek. “But you can worry about it later. I brought takeaway home.”

“Did you?” She turned her face into his, nuzzling at him as he placed a few more soft kisses along her cheek, his hands sliding back to gently cradle her head.

He nodded. “Yup.” His lips ghosted over the shell of her ear before tugging lightly at her earlobe. When her breath hitched, she felt him smile. “Chinese. Beef and broccoli for you, chow mein for me, cheese wontons to share.”

“Oh, my favorites. You’re a dear.” Jemma reached up to bring Fitz’s lips to hers, and he immediately slanted her mouth open, his kisses insistent but still slow and sweet. Clearly, he was intent on kissing her worries of the day away. She drank him in, her fingertips tracing his cheeks as he put a knee on the mattress to bring himself closer to her.

“Can dinner wait?” she murmured against his lips after a moment. He smiled again before pressing in for another kiss, gently sucking on her bottom lip.

“Yup,” he repeated, his voice low and husky. “It’s in the kitchen, it’ll keep.” And then he climbed fully onto the bed, his welcome weight pushing her down into the mattress and making her forget all about dinner and the loss of her anonymity for a good long while.

-:-

Eventually, Jemma started to slowly adjust to her newfound fame, just as Fitz said she would. It was already a little easier to ignore the random comments she got from trolls on Twitter, though getting her account verified on Daisy’s advice helped tremendously with that through the new app features it afforded. It rankled her, though, that she’d only gotten verified due to who she’d married and not through her own merit as a respected scientist in her field. But the advantages couldn’t be denied. The feeling of being watched on the Tube became a background hum in her mind rather than an all-consuming itch. The flood of incoming friend requests from strangers on Facebook began to ease off.

Sometimes it felt like it was two steps forward and another back, however. The tabloids were still gleefully running articles on her, posting any photos they could find alongside anecdotes from anonymous former classmates and acquaintances who were clearly out for a quick buck. She’d had a few colleagues approach her at work as well, asking if it was all true and how she’d even met Fitz. When Jemma told them it had been at the biotech summit, most of them had sighed, said she was lucky, and wondered how they could meet their own millionaire playboy at a work-related conference.

Not that Fitz was a playboy by any stretch of the imagination, but Jemma could appreciate the sentiment.

Navigating her social media on her lunch break was certainly different. Her Facebook was full of university classmates asking about Fitz, which she mostly avoided. She still sought out scientific articles and topics to leap into on Twitter, but now she had to wade through the aforementioned trolls and fans of Fitz vying for her attention to find the replies to her comments on the day’s discussions. Her new account features helped with that, at least.

Daisy had warned her against talking to anyone she didn’t know. “They’re all probably fangirls or boys of Fitz, just looking for crumbs on him,” she’d said. “That’s the fastest way to end up in the headlines: saying something completely innocent about him but it being taken the wrong way or something, and the next thing you know _The Mirror_ is saying you’re pregnant with twins.”

Jemma had rubbed her stomach absently. “Surely there’s worse rumors.”

“Of course there are,” Daisy had replied. “But obviously it’s better to spare yourself and Fitz the headache. You don’t want to make his company’s stock take a dive because you happen to mention he’s not sleeping well or something and the tabloids decide that means running a business is wearing him out.”

That, more than anything, had kept Jemma quiet on Twitter outside of her usual scientific circles. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt the company Fitz had built from the ground up.

A few weeks after Jemma moved in, Fitz asked if she would be open to having visitors over for dinner. She quickly accepted, eager to meet his friends; she’d started to wonder if he had any at all, seeing as he’d yet to really speak of any.

“It’s my friend Mack and his wife Elena,” he explained, his arm around her as they cuddled on the sofa one evening, barely paying attention to BBC One. “Mack used to work for me when I first started out, but he left a few years ago to start his own business.”

Jemma raised her eyebrows. “Ooh, a competitor?”

Fitz smiled. “Not at all. He went and opened an auto repair and detailing shop down in Croydon.”

Her expression immediately turned confused. “He left a Fortune 500 company to be a mechanic?”

Fitz shrugged, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. “He’s doing fine, and he’s happy. He said the fast pace of the company just wasn’t for him. I’ve got no hard feelings.”

Jemma wasn’t exactly sure what she was expecting when she met Fitz’s friends, but it wasn’t a tall, dark giant of a man and his lovely wife. She supposed, knowing his name was Mack and he knew Fitz, that she thought he’d be a fellow Scot—not an American, and so _large_. But she ushered them through the door, welcoming them in with a smile.

“Hey there, Turbo, it’s so good to you,” Mack said, reaching out to clasp Fitz’s hand and bring him in for a brief, one-armed hug. “Been too long.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Fitz replied, ducking his head. “I’ve been busy.”

“We know,” Elena said, turning to Jemma with a warm smile. “You must be Jemma, of course.” She held out her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

Shaking hands felt a little formal for longtime friends of Fitz’s, but Jemma took Elena’s hand in both of her own and gave it a firm yet friendly shake. “It’s wonderful to meet you both,” she said, smiling back. “Honestly, I was beginning to wonder if Fitz even had friends. I’m glad you’re here.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Fitz grumped, but Mack laughed, a booming, rich sound.

“Yeah, that sounds like Turbo,” he said. “He may be all rich and famous now, but to me he’ll always be that loner kid I met at MIT.”

“Cheers,” Fitz glared with little heat, hands on his hips, as Jemma and Elena giggled. “Thanks for making me look sad in front of my wife.”

Mack just laughed again. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Fitz led them downstairs to the kitchen, where Jemma passed out beers to everyone, and then they went out to the back garden to relax on the patio. Jemma was immediately charmed by Mack and Elena—they were funny and open and it was clear they both went back a long way with Fitz and were good friends, even if they didn’t see each other day-to-day anymore. It was especially nice to see Fitz relaxed and smiling. Not that he was ill-tempered around her—far from it—but he often came home from work tired and needed time to unwind. And she knew from what he’d told her that he found it difficult to open up to people. Seeing him happy around others was a treat.

“I gotta say, man, you’re looking good,” Mack said, leaning back in his seat. Elena hummed her agreement as she took a sip of her beer. “It’s good to see.”

“Er, thanks,” Fitz replied, looking a little bemused. “What exactly does ‘good’ mean here?”

Mack shrugged lightly. “You’re smiling, you’ve got some color in your cheeks. Marriage is obviously treating you well.” He winked at Jemma, who hid a smile behind her bottle.

“I mean… _yeah_ ,” Fitz said, and the glance he shot Jemma was adoring. “I’m very happy.”

“Glad to hear it.” Mack took a long sip of his beer. “It’s a lot better than the last time we saw you. When was that—six months ago?” Next to him, Elena nodded. “You looked really rough.”

Jemma noticed Fitz’s expression go flat, and a drop of worry splashed into her stomach. Well, of course he might have looked rough six months ago, she thought. He was likely still grieving then. Mack barreled on, heedless of Fitz’s discomfort. 

“Seriously, Jemma, you should have seen him. It’s like night and day. You’ve obviously been a good influence on him.”

But Fitz was now staring moodily into the depths of his beer bottle, apparently not having heard Mack’s praise of her. Jemma swallowed uneasily. The reminder of his late wife had obviously troubled him.

Elena noticed, though, and turned to Jemma with a smile on her face. “So tell us a little about you,” she said, clearly trying to take the focus off of Fitz. “Fitz has told us about your work as a biochemist, but we’d like to know more about you, yourself.”

Sparing Fitz a concerned glance, Jemma shifted to face Elena. “Well—I’m not sure there’s much to tell,” she said with a small, self-deprecating laugh. “I’ve always been so focused on my work.”

“Sounds familiar,” Mack murmured.

Jemma smiled. “But I love astronomy. I used to go stargazing with my dad when I was younger. And I really enjoy cooking. Much to Fitz’s benefit.” That got a tiny smile from him. “And I love exercising—when I was a girl I used to go hiking all the time with my brothers in the Peak District, next to Sheffield where I grew up.”

It was then she noticed that both Mack and Elena were looking at her with vaguely horrified expressions, and that Fitz had gone very pale. She stared back, wondering what she had said wrong, until it hit her—hiking. She’d mentioned hiking. And Ophelia had died in a hiking accident.

Jemma felt her entire face flush crimson as her stomach dropped through the floor. “But—um—well, now I—now I just prefer going to the gym,” she said, trying desperately to save herself and failing. “I’ve got a membership now at one up on the high street I visit once a week that’s really quite nice.”

She couldn’t look at Fitz. She couldn’t. Not when she’d just so callously reminded him of his first wife’s death like a brick to the face, when he’d already been feeling moody about it. Across from him, Mack and Elena were visibly trying to recover from her gaffe.

“Exercise is a hobby of mine, too,” Elena said. “I was on the track team when I was in school.”

“Hey, Turbo, you got any new designs kicking around in that head of yours?” Mack asked, taking over redirect duties this time. “I’d love to see some.”

“Yeah,” Fitz mumbled, scratching at his ear. “Yeah, I do. Come on, I’ll show you.” He got up and walked inside. Mack followed, sparing the women a troubled backward glance.

Jemma watched them go, feeling absolutely awful. She had no idea how to make it up to Fitz, or if he would reappear with Mack at dinner acting like nothing had happened, wanting to move past it. She was just starting to fall really deep into her misery when Elena gently touched her arm and said, “Don’t worry about him. I’m sure he’ll be fine. It really does look like you’ve done a world of good for him.”

“I hope so,” Jemma replied quietly, still swamped with guilt and a little unsure how open she could be with the other woman.

Elena watched her for a moment before saying, “You know, when we first heard that Fitz had gotten married again, we really didn’t know what to think. But this has been a pleasant surprise. You aren’t what we expected at all.”

Jemma swallowed a little uneasily, not sure where Elena was going with that but still curious. “How so?”

Elena gave her a look that she couldn’t quite read. “It’s just,” she said, “you’re so different from Ophelia.”


	10. Chapter 10

_You’re so different from Ophelia._

Elena’s words were still ringing in Jemma’s ears days after the couple’s visit, drawing her mind into a tailspin of questions and confusion. It had just seemed like a very odd thing to say. While Jemma couldn’t really determine if Elena had meant it as a positive or a negative thing, if she had to guess it had _seemed_ positive, that Elena thought it was good that she wasn’t like Ophelia. Elena _had_ said she was pleasantly surprised.

But why would that be? As far as she could tell, Ophelia had been extremely well-liked. She’d been very active in London society, maintained a large presence on social media with a devoted following, and contributed extensively to various charities and non-profits. She’d been a figurehead in the transhumanism movement, a niche group of people who held the philosophical belief that the human race could be enhanced and transformed through the use of science and technology. She’d brought all of that with her to Fitz’s company when they’d married. Fitz had been successful before her, but Ophelia had made him _popular_.

In life, Ophelia had been involved in so many things. From what Jemma knew, she had been the picture-perfect society girl and tech maven. Fitz had been devoted to her. How could it be a good thing that she, Jemma, was so different from such a well-liked woman?

She finally gave into curiosity one evening before Fitz came home from work and decided to run a search on Ophelia on her phone’s browser. The name sat heavily in the search field for a long moment before she worked up the nerve to hit ‘search’. 

_Ophelia Sarkissian-Fitz_

Hundreds, thousands of news articles, blog posts, tweets, and images popped up in the results. There was plenty about her charitable works, but most of the results were focused on her position within the transhumanism movement and how she had brought it to the fore of the British social scene. Here was an article on Ophelia advocating for the advantages the philosophy could bring for the betterment of humankind, and there was an informative piece on the latest products to come out of LJF Tech’s cybernetics division, which she had co-founded with Fitz (and which he was now shutting down). There were scores and scores of social media posts from fans and admirers extolling her many virtues. There were all the photos of Ophelia out and about, walking with friends, eating at trendy cafés, browsing the shops, always looking glamorous and fashionable in her designer clothes and sunglasses.

And there were the photos of her with Fitz at all the various functions they’d attended together. They were laughing and smiling in most of them, arms around each other, the very picture of a young, happy couple in love.

The pictures settled a dull, hollow sort of ache in Jemma’s chest. Intellectually she knew it was ridiculous because Ophelia was gone and never coming back, but still—there it was. Her eyes just kept going back to the smile on Fitz’s face in all of the photos, the way he looked at Ophelia. He’d clearly adored her. And why shouldn’t he have? Ophelia had been beautiful, popular, and accomplished. 

What was she in comparison?

As much as she knew it was a fool’s exercise, Jemma couldn’t help but draw the contrast. She knew she was intelligent, but Ophelia had been brilliant herself, a savvy businesswoman with grand ideas whose family came from old money in America. She, Jemma, was just a mousy biochemist, a clinical researcher who’d lived from paycheck to paycheck before she met Fitz. She _couldn’t_ compare. And she was reminded of it every day, as various social media comments and the occasional online article said: _You can’t replace Ophelia. You’re nothing like her. You’re not good enough for him. You don’t deserve him_.

Jemma tried her best to ignore all of the negativity, but sometimes the worst of it slipped through the cracks and it always hit her like a punch to the stomach.

Fitz loved her. That was the important thing to remember. They loved each other and _they_ were making a life together now.

But the question still prodded at her in the in-between moments when she least expected it to. What had Elena really meant when she said Jemma wasn’t what she had expected? Why would Fitz choose someone like her if she was so different from someone he had obviously loved very much?

-:-

The next day during her lunch break, a text popped up from Daisy containing a photo of Jemma as a young girl. _Is this you?_ she asked. A bit perplexed, Jemma set down her bottled water to text her back.

 _[Jemma]: Yes, it is. Where did you get that?  
_ _[Daisy]: aaaaaaah. okay so the daily fail just ran another story on you  
_ _[Daisy]: about your life growing up and all that. they found people who ‘know you’ to comment  
_ _[Daisy] i bet they got the people and the photo off facebook or something_

Jemma fought the urge to groan and bury her face in her hands. She didn’t want to attract any attention to herself in the middle of the staff break room. Instead, she picked up her phone to reply, but Daisy beat her to it with another text.

 _[Daisy]: i thought you said you’d locked down your facebook  
_ _[Daisy] did you do your photos too?_

Jemma frowned.

_[Jemma]: Are those separate settings?_

She could practically hear Daisy sigh all the way from Camden Town. 

_[Daisy]: yes, your photo albums can be separate settings  
_ _[Daisy]: you should probably let me go through your phone and make sure everything is locked down nice and tight  
_ _[Jemma]: You can do that the next time we meet for lunch  
_ _[Daisy]: great! then you can make a post bitching out whoever’s been selling you out to the tabloids_

That brought a smile to Jemma’s face, even as she mentally shook her head. 

_[Jemma]: You know I wouldn’t do that. But I’ll be more careful about what I post from now on  
_ _[Daisy]: yeah I bet. no photos of loverboy_

Jemma rolled her eyes and took a bite of her chicken wrap before picking her phone back up.

 _[Jemma]: Did you read the article? How bad was it?  
_ _[Daisy]: not bad. just ‘friends’ talking about what you were like at school_

If Daisy could sound evasive over text, she managed it. Jemma frowned again.

_[Jemma]: No, really. What did they say?_

There was a pause before a reply popped up on the screen.

 _[Daisy]: they said you were uptight and gave off ‘unapproachable vibes’  
_ _[Daisy]: whatever that means_

Jemma had to fight hard not to let out an indignant squawk. ‘Unapproachable vibes’? What _did_ that mean? And she was not uptight! She was… meticulous. A planner. She liked to have everything neat and tidy and sorted. What was so wrong about that?

 _[Jemma]: I am not uptight! I just like my routines and schedules.  
_ _[Daisy]: i love you but you are. but like just a little bit_

Wounded, Jemma’s jaw dropped.

 _[Jemma]: Hey!  
_ _[Daisy]: JUST A LITTLE BIT  
_ _[Daisy]: not like this article says  
_ _[Daisy]: i love you lots <33333 _

Jemma sighed. She knew Daisy meant well and only criticized because she cared. _Well, we’ll see how this one goes_ , she typed back. _I’m sure there will be plenty of people online with lots of opinions about me._

 _[Daisy]: ignore them. you’re the best!  
_ _[Daisy]: and anyway you win because you married a hot rich dude and they didn’t  
_ _[Daisy]: i don’t think fitz is hot. but i know you do_

That got a small laugh out of her. Daisy was right—she’d rather come out on top, hadn’t she? She’d married the sweetest, most lovely man in the world and he adored her, so it shouldn’t matter what anyone else thought.

But it was impossible to avoid some of the jeering taunts that came in through Twitter as she scrolled the app on the Tube ride home, looking for tweets from her friends in the scientific community to respond to. It happened anytime someone ran a story on her: people would read and feel the need to tag her in and make their opinions known, both good and bad. Today, given the subject and tone of the article, they were mostly bad.

 _gonna let the Mail talk about you like this @DrDrSimmons? tell us what you think!  
_ _can’t believe Fitz married an uptight bitch like you  
_ _you’re like a bargain bin Ophelia, Fitz must really be desperate_  
 _what’s it like knowing you’re the rebound girl?  
DOWNGRADE_

Jemma knew better than to give them any real thought, but they still felt like little needles pricking into her skin. She would never understand how people could be so cruel. Didn’t they know she was a real, live human being on the other side of the screen, with thoughts and feelings? That their words had the power to wound?

Maybe that was the point. It made her seriously consider Daisy’s advice of creating a second, secret account.

By the time she got home, all Jemma wanted was a large glass of wine, her pajamas, and Fitz. Not necessarily in that order. But Fitz wasn’t home yet, so that part at least would have to wait. Dropping her bag off in the lounge, she went downstairs to the kitchen.

Bottle of red and a large glass set out on the marble countertop, she went hunting for the corkscrew. She was still getting used to the layout of the kitchen and where everything was kept, so it took her a minute of rooting through the drawers to find it. Jemma smiled once she located it in a drawer full of odds and ends, holding up her prize, but then her attention was caught by a smallish white box with gold stamped filigree shoved into the back of the drawer. Curious, she pulled it out.

Opening it, she found a rather odd-shaped yet expensive-looking lever corkscrew sitting on white tissue paper. Upon closer inspection, she discovered the corkscrew was Le Creuset and sniffed. A little too expensive for her tastes. Then she saw a card taped to the inside of the box lid and set it down so she could read it.

Inside the card, a short note was written in a very neat, looping script. _To Leo_ , it read, _from Ophelia. xx_

A funny sort of feeling struck Jemma in the chest. _To Leo_. Everyone she knew called him Fitz. The press called him Fitz. Mack and Elena called him Fitz. He’d introduced himself to her as Fitz. But Ophelia… she’d been allowed to call him by his given name.

Jemma didn’t know how to parse her emotions at that moment, looking down at the little remnant of Fitz’s love for his first wife in her hands. She had no issue with calling Fitz by his last name; by all accounts he preferred it. But apparently Ophelia had been special enough to gain the use of his first name.

And Jemma wasn’t.

 _Don’t be silly_ , she told herself. _They were married for—what?—five years? And you’ve been married for two months, barely. Maybe he’ll open up as we grow closer and let you call him Leo._

Still, there was a small, hard knot in her chest that Ophelia’s handwriting had put there. 

She closed the box, put it back in the drawer, and poured herself an extra-large glass of wine.

When Fitz finally arrived home from work a little later than usual, Jemma was on the sofa in the lounge watching trash telly while she sipped at her wine. She looked up at the sound of the front door opening and closing, eager to see her husband and ask him about his day. However, her words died on her lips when Fitz appeared in the archway that separated the lounge from the entry hall, storm clouds darkening his face.

“I have had a _piss-poor_ day,” he announced with feeling, slipping out of his dress shoes and lining them up next to the entry’s console table with his socked feet.

Jemma frowned at him over the back of the sofa. “What’s wrong? You sounded fine at lunch. Everything alright?”

Fitz sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “The afternoon just… went to complete shit.” He shook his head. “And it’s not over yet.”

Her frown deepened. “What do you mean?” she asked. “What happened?”

“Work things,” he replied while waving a hand, his mind clearly still miles away. “I’ve got to go take care of some stuff.” Without waiting for a reply or dropping off his bag, he headed for the stairs—going straight to his office, Jemma presumed.

He passed Alistair coming down the stairs as he went up. His father barely made room for him to pass by, then watched him stomp up around the curve in the staircase leading up to the first floor. When he’d disappeared from view, Alistair huffed and turned to come down the last few steps. He looked to be headed for the stairs down to the kitchen, but stopped when he saw Jemma watching.

“He must be in one of his moods,” Alistair said.

Jemma frowned again. “Moods?” She’d known Fitz to occasionally be grouchy, usually when it came to other people bothering him, but he wasn’t _moody_. At least, he hadn’t been so far.

“Yes,” Alistair said, resting a hand on the banister. “He gets in these moods, very sour, always has—ever since he was a boy. Goes with his temper.”

Jemma sagged against the sofa cushions a little, bringing her glass of wine closer to her chest. Temper? That didn’t sound like the Fitz she knew, either. She didn’t know what to make of what Alistair was telling her and wasn’t entirely sure she should trust his words, given his prickly relationship with his son… but he _had_ known him longer.

“Anyway, he usually settles down after a drink or two,” Alistair continued. “When Ophelia was alive, if he was in a mood she would always make him a drink and talk him through things.” He looked down to adjust his cardigan. “Maybe you could do the same.”

Maybe she could. It didn’t sound like such a bad idea. Her wine was certainly smoothing over her own frazzled nerves. And she _did_ want to help—Fitz had looked so aggravated just now, and she wanted to do whatever she could to lighten his burden, whatever it was.

“I could do that,” she said slowly, nodding to herself as the suggestion took root. “I think I will. That’s a lovely idea, thank you.” She stood, bringing her wine with her. Alistair just nodded and waited for her to pass before following her downstairs to the kitchen.

Jemma went straight to the fridge, intent on pouring Fitz a glass of wine too, but Alistair said, “He likes scotch and soda. That’s his favorite.”

She looked up from where she’d just grabbed the bottle of red again, then set it back down inside the fridge and reached for the soda water instead. “Right,” she said. “He does like scotch, I remember that.”

Alistair grabbed the day’s copy of the _Times_ and went and sat in the window booth while Jemma walked over to the cupboard to fetch the bottle of good Scotch whisky Fitz kept. A minute’s work had a nice scotch and soda poured over ice for him, and she shot Alistair a small smile as she put everything away. He appeared not to notice her, absorbed in the sports section of the newspaper. Jemma mentally shrugged and grabbed both her wine and Fitz’s drink before going back upstairs.

The door to Fitz’s office was closed when she reached it, so she knocked quietly with the hand holding her wine, taking care not to spill it. “Who is it?” Fitz’s voice snapped from inside, and Jemma made a face. Well, _that_ was certainly moody.

“It’s me,” she called lightly.

“Oh.” Fitz’s attitude immediately changed. “Come in.”

Jemma fumbled to get the doorknob turned with her hands full, then eased the door open. Fitz was sitting at his large antique wooden desk, forehead resting on his hand and a thick white binder open in front of him. He looked up at her arrival and shut the binder, giving her a thin smile.

“Hi,” she said, suddenly feeling shy, and stepped forward to hold out the scotch and soda. “I made you a drink.”

Fitz blinked. “Oh. Um, alright,” he replied, sounding a little bemused, and reached out to take the glass from her. “Thanks.”

Jemma watched him take a small sip as a note of confusion dropped into her chest. Why did he look and sound perplexed at her gesture? Shouldn’t this be familiar to him, a source of comfort? “I thought it might help you relax,” she offered hesitantly, deciding not to mention that his father had suggested it.

Fitz took another, longer sip, then set the glass down a safe distance from the binder. “It might. I hope it does.” He looked up at her and gave her another, slightly more genuine smile, but she didn’t miss how tired he looked. 

“What are you working on?” she asked, nodding down at the binder.

Fitz’s face collapsed back down into a frown. “Oh, just some work stuff, like I said,” he muttered, crossing his arms on top of the binder. “It’s… it’s boring stuff.”

It was Jemma’s turn to frown. She truly hoped he wasn’t implying she wouldn’t understand whatever it was he had in the binder, because she would set him straight on that very quickly. “Do you want to talk about it?” she said, trying out Alistair’s advice.

But instead of opening up to her like she hoped, Fitz just shook his head and sighed. “No, it’s… it’s just boring financials, and I want to get it sorted as fast as I can.” The tight smile was back. “But I’m afraid it might take awhile so… you should probably go ahead and get dinner started without me.”

His eyes were apologetic, but it didn’t stop a dull sort of hurt from spreading through her. Why hadn’t it worked? Alistair had said Fitz always talked through his problems with Ophelia. Here she had offered to do the same and he was turning her away. She didn’t understand. 

“Right.” She swallowed and took a small step back, hugging her wine glass to her chest. “I’ll just let you get back to work.” She turned and left the office without looking back so he wouldn’t see the disappointment on her face, and shut the door quietly behind her. 

Her hurt feelings stayed with her for the rest of the night, no matter how hard she tried to rationalize them away. Fitz was just tired, she told herself. He’d obviously had a stressful day. The better he could focus on his work, the sooner he could finish it and come join her in the lounge to eat leftover takeaway and pick fun at her choice of telly viewing. 

But Fitz didn’t come downstairs until it was almost time for bed, looking even more haggard than he had when he got home. It left Jemma feeling discontented even as he wrapped her up in his arms after they crawled beneath the sheets to settle down for the night. Why wouldn’t he talk to her? Did he not trust her? No, that was silly. She knew Fitz trusted her. But if it wasn’t that, what was it?

She could only think of one reason why, ridiculous as it sounded, and it only made her heart sink even further.

It was because she wasn’t Ophelia.


	11. Chapter 11

“So how’s the millionaire married life treating you?”

Jemma looked across the table at Daisy, who was taking a bite out of her club sandwich. They were having lunch at the Pret a Manger next to Jemma’s lab, a weekly tradition they hadn’t let fall by the wayside just because she had moved out. When Jemma didn’t immediately reply, Daisy raised her eyebrows as she chewed, and Jemma shrugged lightly as she regarded her own chicken, avocado, and basil sandwich.

“It’s more than I bargained for, in some ways,” she replied honestly. “I still find people following me sometimes, or they’ll try to chat me up on the Tube. I’ve caught my coworkers staring at my rings and gossipping. It’s a bit much.” She started to lift her sandwich to her mouth, but paused. “Oh, and the _gym_. I’ve told you about the gym I’ve started going to, yeah? The one up on Kensington High Street?” When Daisy nodded, reaching for her drink, Jemma continued, “It’s so _posh_. I feel so out of place there and like everyone judges me. But it’s right off the Tube, so it’s convenient.” She sighed. “It’s the staring that’s the worst. I always feel like people are staring at me. Someone might be staring right now. Or taking photos.”

Daisy laughed. “I’m glad I’m wearing a nice shirt today, then,” she joked, plucking at her blouse. Then she pulled a face. “Oh, speaking of photos, you would not _believe_ the shit I saw on Twitter today.” She set her sandwich down to pick up her phone and tap through it. “It popped up on my timeline because one of my coworkers that I follow liked it. Asshole. Anyway, look.”

She held her phone out for Jemma to see, and when she leaned in, Jemma saw that it was a tweet of two photos side by side: one of Ophelia and one of her, both of them out and about walking the streets of London. But the tweet was labeled “from Gucci to Wal-Mart”. 

Jemma sucked in a breath, stung despite knowing that it was just a stranger’s meaningless (but cruel) opinion. “Oh, now that—that’s just unfair,” she protested, her nose scrunching up. “They used a picture of her all glammed up out at the shops, and I’m—well, I’ve just come from the gym and I’m all sweaty. They did that on purpose.”

“Yeah, probably,” Daisy said, pulling her phone back and swiping the tweet away with her finger. “It’s just so _mean_. I almost went all in on them before I remembered that fighting with teenagers on Twitter is stupid. But it was _so_ tempting.”

Jemma managed a small smile for her, but it collapsed back into a frown as she considered the comparison between her and Ophelia. She had looked so vibrant and fashionable and chic in her photo, with her trendy clothes and styled hair and designer sunglasses. Jemma, meanwhile, had just looked like a frumpy nightmare in her gym clothes with her flushed cheeks and hair pulled up into a messy knot.

“Am I really that bad?” she asked, chewing on her bottom lip. “I mean—I know I’m not _horrid_ , but am I really so plain as to be called _Wal-Mart_?”

Daisy immediately scoffed. “No!” she cried. “You are a science goddess! And it was an unfair comparison, they specifically used an unflattering picture of you.”

Jemma nibbled on her lip a bit more. “Hmm, I suppose you’re right.”

“I _am_ right.” Daisy picked her sandwich back up. “Anyway, they’re just Twitter idiots who stan real-life people, and can’t stand to see them with anyone else, even if one half of the couple is _dead_.” She took a large bite of her sandwich. “It’s just weird shipper jealousy, that’s all.”

Jemma sighed and resumed eating her sandwich as well, though with less enthusiasm as Daisy. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to being the subject of public discussion and debate. Well—I always imagined that if I did, it would be for my work. Not because of who I married. Though I really do try to avoid all of it, sometimes I can’t.” She frowned down into her water. “Maybe I should be like Fitz and get rid of my social media.”

Daisy made a distressed noise as she chewed a bite of her food. “No, don’t do that!” she said once she’d swallowed. “You’d hate it, I know you would—you love talking science on Twitter. I would hate for you to lose all of that.” When Jemma nodded, she added, “You just have to maintain your privacy settings and be smart about it. Keep all the assholes out.”

Jemma nodded once. Then, inhaling, she put on a smile and said, “So, how are things going with Daniel?”

A wide grin spread over Daisy’s face. “Nuh-uh. No way,” she laughed. “You’re not getting out of it that easy. I asked you how married life is going. What about Fitz?”

That brought a small but genuine smile out of Jemma. “Oh, he’s fine. Still the man of my dreams,” she said, taking a sip of her water, but then she frowned again. “Though he’s been a bit of a grumpus lately.”

“How so?” Daisy asked.

She shrugged. “He’s been coming home from work in a bit of a mood, then goes and shuts himself in his office for hours and won’t tell me what he’s doing. Just says it’s for work.”

“Maybe he’s cooking up some sort of evil corporate scheme,” Daisy teased, grinning. “A new, terrible gadget for world domination.”

Jemma rolled her eyes. “Hardly. I don’t think he has a mean bone in his body, no matter what his father says.”

Daisy popped a crisp into her mouth. “Okay, that’s weird. His dad says he’s mean?”

“Not in so many words,” Jemma said. “But he told me once that Fitz is moody and has a bad temper. I mean, yes, I’ve seen the moods lately, but not the temper. I’m not sure he’s even capable of getting _truly_ angry.”

“But you’d think his dad would know,” Daisy hedged, poking her straw into the ice at the bottom of her cup. “You know, being his dad and all.”

“I’m honestly not really sure,” Jemma admitted. “Fitz says they’ve never gotten along, and just between you and me, something about his father feels a little off. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“Well, I trust your judgment,” Daisy said. “ _You’re_ his wife.”

That was true. But what Jemma didn’t tell Daisy was that she had the niggling feeling that perhaps she didn’t know Fitz quite as well as she should—or that he wasn’t letting her in as much as he had opened himself up to Ophelia.

-:-

“Ah, there she is,” Fitz said, coming off the last step of the stairs into the kitchen. He looked tired but he was smiling as he came around the island to where Jemma was washing vegetables in the sink and kissed her cheek. “I’m happy to see you.”

Jemma smiled in return and dropped a freshly-scrubbed bell pepper into a bowl waiting by the sink. “Bad day at work?” she asked. 

“Always,” he replied, resting his hand at the small of her back. “But at least I have the weekend free now.”

“Really?” Jemma placed a tomato into the bowl. “I thought we had that tech preview to go to. I bought a dress and everything.”

Fitz shook his head, looking a bit smug. “I begged off of it.”

Jemma looked back down at the veg she still had left to clean and tried not to frown. She was thinking of all the photos she had seen of Fitz in the past, all the events he had gone to with Ophelia. How he’d smiled in all of them, looking happy to be there. “I thought you liked going to these things,” she said. “You used to go all the time.”

“Not anymore,” Fitz replied, and leaned in to kiss her cheek again before moving past her to head for the stairs. “I’m going to get changed, I’m knackered.”

Jemma watched him go until he disappeared around the turn in the staircase before focusing her attention back on prepping dinner.

“He _did_ go to events a lot.”

Jemma jumped slightly. Alistair, who had been sitting unnoticed in the window booth with a beer and the _Times_ crossword, was now watching her. “I know,” she murmured after a pause, putting the last bell pepper in the bowl and turning the tap off, reaching for a tea towel to dry her hands.

“He and Ophelia would go together,” Alistair continued. “She loved events, loved dressing up for them. She thought they were fun. Loved getting Fitz dressed up, too.”

Jemma shot Alistair a glance as she pulled out a cutting board and set it on the island next to her bowl of washed vegetables. He was rather obsessed with Ophelia, wasn’t he? He talked about her a lot. It was very weird—he didn’t sound too different from some of the less savory people she ran into on Twitter. But she held her tongue, because the last thing she wanted was to start a fight with her father-in-law. It was more than enough that he and Fitz didn’t get along; she didn’t want to put herself at odds with him, too. So instead, she said mildly, “I’ve seen photos of them out together. He did seem to enjoy them.”

“I wonder what’s made him stop going,” Alistair mused quietly, almost to himself.

Jemma could only guess: it was because Ophelia was gone.

The thought stuck with her as she cooked dinner, long after Alistair had taken the newspaper and disappeared upstairs to his room. Fitz didn’t want to go to events anymore, and he didn’t want to take her with him. Why? They really hadn’t gone out and made any sort of public appearance together since they’d gotten married, not unless you counted walking to the Tube together in the morning on their way to work. But he and Ophelia had gone everywhere together—events, premieres, parties. Why did he no longer want to go to them?

It was because he didn’t have Ophelia, she reminded herself. Perhaps losing her had soured his enthusiasm for public events. Maybe she had been the shine that made them worthwhile—he liked going with someone who enjoyed them. But she would enjoy them, too, if he would only ask her. She’d actually been looking forward to the tech preview that weekend, a little nervous but proud to be seen in public as his wife. So why was he avoiding events? Why did he take Ophelia but not her? Was it possible that he didn’t want to be seen with her?

Maybe he was hiding her for some reason. She wasn’t as pretty or well-known as Ophelia; she was just a biochemist, not well-connected. She didn’t know anyone. She didn’t have anything to offer Fitz besides her love. Was that it? He didn’t want to be seen with a nobody? He didn’t want to show off a wife who had no connections, nothing of importance to give to London high society?

Come to think of it, he’d kind of hid her in New York, too. He’d married her there before coming home so no one would know about it. That was rather shifty, wasn’t it? He’d said it was to protect her from the paparazzi, but what if there was more to it? What if he genuinely hadn’t wanted anyone to know they were married, because he was ashamed of her? She’d just gone along with it, happy and caught up in the flush of new, intense love, and hadn’t questioned anything. Fitz had seemed happy, too, but… he’d kept her at home ever since. They’d yet to make any sort of public appearance where she was formally introduced as his wife.

 _Stop it, you’re being silly_ , she told herself. _He loves you. You know he does. He’s just a private man, you know that too. He’ll take you out when he’s good and ready._

But when would that be? When would he be just as eager to show her off as he had been with Ophelia?

-:-

Jemma was still stewing in her thoughts later that evening when Fitz cleared his throat as they finished their dinner.

“You know, I was thinking,” he said, chasing the last bit of rice, chicken, and chopped pepper left on his plate. “Maybe we could go up and see my mum this weekend? Since it’s a bank holiday and we’ve got the extra day off.”

Jemma perked up a bit. “You want me to meet your mum?”

Fitz glanced up at her and nodded like it was the most obvious thing as he shoved his last forkful of food into his mouth. “‘Course,” he mumbled around his food. Hurrying to chew and swallow, he met her eyes and added, “I mean, I know I don’t get a lot of time off, and she’s dying to meet you. Plus, I’ve got a little cottage out in the countryside near Glasgow that I can take you to.” He smiled. “It can just be the two of us.”

That made Jemma smile back as a soft, hopeful warmth lit in her chest. This was promising—Fitz wanting her to meet his mum was a good thing. It had to be, right? And so was wanting to take her on a private holiday. Maybe it could be like New York had been: just the two of them, wrapped up in their little bubble, happy and in love, and Fitz would be back to his sweet, adoring self instead of tired and cross all the time. It wasn’t fair of her, she knew that—his job was very stressful—but sometimes she missed the man she’d met in New York.

Even if they would still be hiding, technically, all alone out in the countryside and not at all like the lavish city trips she knew he’d taken with Ophelia, it felt different. They would be together. He was smiling. It would be something.

“I’d love to,” she said sincerely.

Fitz’s smile brightened. “Great! I’ll phone my mum and let her know we want to drop by. She’ll be so excited.”

And that was enough to soothe Jemma’s ills. Fitz loved her. She didn’t need him to parade her around London for proof of that. All she needed was the two of them, together, and the reminder that he thought she was the most interesting woman in the world, the woman he’d given his heart to, the woman he came home to every day and snuggled up to at night. He was Fitz and she was Jemma and they were in love. Nothing outside of them mattered.

-:-

Jemma only worked a half day that Friday, going home early to meet Fitz, who had managed to do the same. At home, they had a quick, light lunch before packing up to head to Glasgow for the weekend. After taking the Tube to Heathrow, going through security, and waiting on their flight, it was early evening by the time they landed in Glasgow. Fitz was very pleased with the car they picked up from the rental—a zippy, sporty convertible not too unlike his BMW at home—and in short order they were driving off for his mum’s flat in the West End.

“It’s not where I grew up,” Fitz explained over the roar of the car’s engine and the wind whipping through their hair. “My mum refuses to take anything from me, but I wanted to repay her for everything she did for me. Working hard to send me to good schools, letting me go across the ocean at such a young age to attend MIT, leaving her all alone… all of that. So I got her a nicer flat in a better part of the city. Nothing incredibly posh, but it’s better than where she was.”

Jemma smiled. “And she accepted it without any fuss?”

“Without _much_ fuss,” Fitz amended. Jemma laughed.

It wasn’t a long drive from the airport into the city, and after twenty minutes or so Fitz parked them outside a handsome-looking row of brownstone terraced houses typical of the city. Jemma looked around as they got out of the car.

“Here we are,” Fitz said, shutting the car door behind him. “She’s just inside, up on the first floor.”

A small flutter of nerves took flight in Jemma’s stomach. What would Fitz’s mum be like? Would she like her? Would she hate her? She wanted to make a good first impression, for Fitz’s sake at the very least. She knew how much he loved his mum, and, well, she was the new wife. Sometimes these introductions didn’t go so well.

Fitz led her inside and up the stairs to a door on the landing, where he knocked. After a minute there was the sound of shuffling behind the door, and then it opened.

“Leo!” Mrs. Fitz cried, opening her arms to her son. “You’re here! Come in, come in!”

Fitz chuckled as he stepped forward to accept her hug, folding his arms around her with a smile. His mother was shorter than he was, neat and trim with sandy curls just like her son’s except for a touch of grey shot through them. She smiled widely as she embraced him, then opened her eyes to look at Jemma over his shoulder. “And you’re Jemma, of course!” she said, letting go of Fitz. “Come here, it’s so good to meet you!”

Jemma smiled, accepting the arms the older woman held out to her. “It’s lovely to finally meet you, too, Mrs. Fitz,” she said warmly, giving her a squeeze. “Fitz always speaks so highly of you.”

“Oh, he would, wouldn’t he?” Mrs. Fitz laughed, squeezing her back. “He’s always been a bit of a mumma’s boy.”

“ _Mum_ ,” Fitz groaned.

Mrs. Fitz laughed again and let go of Jemma just enough to take a step back and hold her at arm’s length, beaming. “None of this ‘Mrs. Fitz’ nonsense, now. You’re family, it’s either Mum or Jean. Come on, let’s get you two inside. I hope you’re hungry—I’ve got dinner ready.” She stood back to usher the two of them into the flat, then reached for their suitcases. “I’ll get these taken to your room, Leo. You just see Jemma to the kitchen.”

Suitcases in hand, Mrs. Fitz—Jean, now—went to the right while Fitz smiled and gestured for Jemma to follow him to the left. They walked down the hall and through one of the doors at the end into a narrow but cheery and well-kept kitchen which opened up on the far end to be wide enough to accommodate a modestly-sized table. A tall window overlooked the back garden and the smell of tomato sauce and spices filled the air. 

“Oh, that smells wonderful,” Jemma said, looking to the stove. “What is it?”

Fitz paused to inspect the pot and covered saucepan that sat atop the stove burners, lifting the saucepan lid a little. “Spag bol,” he said, grinning. “Brilliant.”

“It’s his favorite,” Jean added, coming into the kitchen behind him. She shooed him away with her hands. “Go, sit down. I’ll bring you and Jemma a plate.”

Jemma smiled at Fitz as they each took a seat facing each other at the table. “I love spag bol,” she told Jean. “It’s been ages since I’ve had it, I think. If I’d known it was his favorite, I would have made it already.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ve mentioned that,” Fitz said, waving a hand, and Jean glanced over at them with a pleased smile as she piled pasta from the pot onto two plates.

“You know _some_ of his favorites, I expect,” she prompted, picking up a spoon and turning to the saucepan.

Jemma sat up a bit straighter. “I know he likes his sweets. Especially chocolate Hobnobs and Maltesers, but he’ll take anything sugary, really.” Across the table from her, Fitz was hiding his face with one hand and making an exaggerated aggrieved expression. “Lots of sugar in his tea, loves gummy candies. He’s got a stash up in the cabinet above the fridge he thinks I don’t know about.”

Fitz’s hand dropped to the table at the same time his mouth fell open. “Hey! How did you find those? I specifically put those in a plain paper bag, _on purpose_.”

Jemma looked to Jean with a conspiratorial smile and found her already looking back, an expression she couldn’t quite decipher on her face. It almost looked relieved, Jemma thought, but over what she couldn’t guess.

“I couldn’t keep sweets hidden from him as a boy,” Jean said, coming over to the table and setting a plate of steaming spag bol down in front of each of them. “I tried to save them as rewards for good behavior or good marks, but he found all of my hiding spots and then once he was skipped ahead in school he started bringing home good marks on everything, so… wasn’t any point in hiding them anymore.”

“Mum,” Fitz complained as he twirled his fork into his pasta, “are you going to tell her _all_ of my embarrassing stories?”

Jean shrugged lightly as she served herself dinner. “Maybe a few.”

Jemma caught Fitz’s eye and grinned. “Oh no, I think I want to hear all of them.”

He sighed as he lifted his fork, but he was smiling. “Oh, that’s just what I need. The two of you, thick as thieves, ganging up on me.”

Dinner passed easily, with Jean sharing all of the embarrassing stories from Fitz’s childhood that he didn’t want her to tell. He took it all in stride, though, smiling sheepishly as his mum detailed the saga of how he dismantled all of her kitchen appliances when he was just eight years old. “I put them back together even better than they were before,” he defended himself. “Didn’t I?”

“You did, you did,” Jean said graciously. “But it still gave me a heart attack to find my toaster _and_ my kettle in pieces on the kitchen floor.”

She told Jemma about birthdays and Christmases and science fairs, all the way up to when she saw Fitz off to MIT at age twelve. She never once mentioned his father, but that was fine. Jemma surmised he must have been a sore spot for Jean, too. But it was nice to see Fitz happy and relaxed, laughing with his mum at some of her stories and cringing at others, free from the stresses of work that had been plaguing him lately.

Then Jean turned to Jemma and asked about her, where she was from and what she did, how she and Fitz had met. She explained that Fitz had told her everything already, but she wanted to hear it from Jemma herself. Jemma delighted in talking about her research at Bioworks and how she thought she’d missed her opportunity to impress Fitz at the biotech summit, only to find out he was interested in talking to her more on her own.

Jean clapped her hands together, eyes shining. “It’s such a sweet story. When Leo called and told me he’d gotten married, I was shocked. I never figured him to be the type to sweep a girl off her feet.”

“Thanks, Mum,” Fitz deadpanned. It made Jemma smile.

“I mean it!” Jean insisted. “You were always so quiet growing up, kept to yourself. Until—well, and now you’ve gone and had yourself a whirlwind romance. And aren’t you two just dears.” She beamed at both of them and reached out to squeeze Fitz’s shoulder. He looked down and scratched at his eyebrow, smiling bashfully. Turning to Jemma, Jean added, “I can tell you’ve done so much good for him already. He looks and sounds so much better than he did even a few months ago. Thank you.”

It was Jemma’s turn to blush and duck her head. “No thanks needed,” she said, even as she noted to herself that Jean had noticed a change for the better in Fitz just like Mack and Elena had. “I’m just… being myself.”

Fitz reached across the table to cover her hand with his own and smiled. “When you meet the right person, everything’s better.”

-:-

“I think your mum likes me,” Jemma said later that evening, as they changed into their pajamas to get ready for bed.

Fitz snorted. “Of course she does, she loves you. Who wouldn’t?”

Jemma pretended to mull it over. “Oh, I don’t know. Most everyone I went to school with, Emma Hargraves who lives next door to my parents, a few of the techs at the lab, _loads_ of people on the internet…” _Your dad_ , she didn’t say, although that was just a vague feeling at the moment and nothing she had concrete evidence for.

Fitz set his folded clothes from the day down in his suitcase and turned to her. “Who cares about them? You’ve got your parents and your friends, and Daisy. And me, of course.” He took her face gently in his hands and kissed her forehead. “And now my mum. I promise, she adores you. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“I’m glad,” Jemma murmured. “I admit I was a bit nervous. I want her to like me—she’s your _mum_. I was just afraid of making a poor first impression somehow, like talking too much about my experiments over dinner.”

Laughing softly, Fitz kissed her forehead again, then her mouth. “My mum has a stronger stomach than I do. I doubt she would have minded. Might have asked you for more stories, actually.”

After they brushed their teeth and Jemma washed her face, they crawled into the double bed that took up most of the small room and switched off the lamp, settling in for the night. Fitz sighed, pulling Jemma in against his side and pressing one last kiss to her hairline.

“So, this isn’t the flat I grew up in, but it’s the same furniture. I can still say I’ve gotten you into my childhood bed,” he teased, his voice quiet in the dark.

Jemma rolled her eyes fondly. “You’re not suggesting we have sex, are you?” she teased back. “With your mum right down the hall?”

Fitz made a curt noise. “Absolutely not,” he replied immediately. “This may be a new-ish flat, but the walls are still thin. I’m not subjecting either of us to that sort of humiliation in the morning. And trust me, it would be humiliation.”

Jemma laughed, but there was a part of her that couldn’t help but wonder if he was speaking from experience. It was a sudden, sobering reminder that while yes, she was currently snuggled up to Fitz in his childhood bed, someone else had been in her place first. Someone he’d loved enough to risk extreme embarrassment for.

Guilt came quickly on the heels of those thoughts. Of course Ophelia would have stayed here, she’d been Fitz’s wife. Where else would she have stayed? The sofa in the lounge? No, she was thinking nonsense thoughts again. It was pointless being jealous of a dead woman, and over Fitz behaving how a husband should. All of that was in the past for him. He’d moved on.

But she couldn’t quite shake the thought that she wasn’t the first, even as she drifted off to sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

The next morning, Jemma and Fitz had a bit of a lie-in before getting up to ready themselves for the drive out to the Perthshire countryside. Jean insisted on cooking them a full fry-up for breakfast, saying she rarely got the opportunity to spoil her son anymore so she wanted to while she had the opportunity.

“He’s told me he barely eats most mornings,” she said, setting a plate loaded down with bacon, a fried egg, sausage, baked beans, and grilled tomatoes and mushrooms in front of Fitz. “He’s always got work on his mind. This makes me feel better.”

“I’m working on that,” Jemma said, watching Jean go back to the stove to fetch her plate. “I’ve started keeping croissants round the house. It’s not much better than toast, but at least I can shove one in his hand before we’re out the door headed for the Tube.”

Fitz grumbled quietly as he tucked into his meal. “I just have a lot on my mind in the morning. Running a Fortune 500 business takes a lot.”

“We know, love,” Jean said as she delivered Jemma her plate. “We just worry about you, that’s all.”

She caught Jemma’s eye and winked, and Jemma couldn’t help but smile. It was nice seeing how much Fitz’s mum cared about him, especially in contrast to his sour relationship with his father. It made her wish that their roles were reversed and that it was Jean who lived with them instead of Alistair. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel the need sometimes to tiptoe around her own house.

Once they finished breakfast, Fitz and Jemma packed up their toiletries and said their goodbyes to Jean. “It was so good to meet you,” she said, hugging Jemma tight. “Please, consider coming up for Christmas? Even if it’s just for a day or two. I would love to have you.”

“I’ll see if I can drag him away from London,” Jemma promised, feeling pleased. She was so glad that Jean liked her. If both his parents had disliked her, she might have felt like she’d failed as a wife somehow.

“I’ll do my best,” Fitz added, kissing his mum on the cheek. “You know they don’t let me get away for very long.”

He suggested grabbing a takeaway tea on their way out of the city, so they stopped at a café on the nearby high street after loading up the car. They had just received their cups and were turning to leave when they were approached by two teenage girls whispering to each other.

“Excuse me, but are you Leo Fitz?” one of them asked, while the other one burst into hushed giggles.

Fitz shot Jemma a look that plainly said _oh no_. “Um yes, yes, I am,” he said, looking back at the girls.

Both of them burst into giggles this time, clutching at each other as amazed expressions came over their faces. “Oh my god!” the first one cried. “We thought it was you, but we weren’t sure—”

“We recognized you from Ophelia’s Instagram,” the other said. 

“We’re _huge_ fans,” the first girl said while the other nodded fervently. “We had to come over and say hi.”

Jemma watched Fitz closely. He’d gone a little stiff once the girls had started exclaiming over him, glancing around to see if any of the other café patrons were watching, but there was really no way out of it. Now he just looked faintly embarrassed.

“We just miss her so much,” one of the girls said, obviously referring to Ophelia, and Jemma didn’t miss the way Fitz visibly swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “We loved everything she did, she was so cool, especially for the transhumanism movement.”

“Yeah, she was awesome,” the other one added. “We were trying to convince our parents to let us get the wrist planner for our eighteenth birthdays, you know the one—?” She held up her wrist and tapped at it. “But then you announced that you were shutting down the cybernetics division, so I guess that won’t happen.”

“Right,” Fitz said.

He looked obviously uncomfortable now, not that the girls noticed; they just chatted on about how much of an inspiration Ophelia had been to them and how much he must miss her. Jemma wanted to do something to help, to support him, to get the girls to leave him alone, but she wasn’t sure what to do that wouldn’t accidentally make things even worse. 

“Anyway,” the first girl said, responding to a light elbow in the ribs from the other, “can we get a picture with you?” She held up her phone, smiling winsomely. 

Fitz let out a small sigh. “Sure,” he said, though Jemma was certain he absolutely did not want to. 

The girl turned to Jemma and held out her phone. “Can you take it for us?” Next to her, her friend was already moving to come stand next to Fitz.

Jemma took the phone from her with a vague sense of unease. The girls hadn’t so much as acknowledged her presence despite her standing right next to Fitz, and now they were going to exclude her from a photo with her own husband. Though that made sense, she supposed. She certainly wasn’t Ophelia, their hero. She was just the no-name new wife. Who would want a picture with her?

Fitz didn’t put his arms around either of the girls—Jemma supposed holding onto his cup of tea was a good enough excuse—but they didn’t seem to mind. They both leaned in and smiled, and Fitz managed to put a neutral, almost pleasant expression on his face. Jemma held up the phone and took a couple of quick photos, hopefully enough to satisfy them. Then she handed it back.

“Thank you so much!” they both said, thrilled with their prize. “It was so nice to meet you!” And they both turned to go back to their table without giving Jemma so much as a second glance.

Fitz, his mouth pressed into a thin line, resumed his walk to the front door of the café. Jemma skipped once to catch up with him. “I’m sorry,” she said once they were outside on the pavement, heading back for their rental car. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Eh,” Fitz muttered, doing a poor job of pretending to look unbothered. “It happens sometimes. You just learn to smile and nod while they say their piece, get the photo over and done with, and go on your way.”

Jemma frowned. She knew Fitz could be grouchy around others at the best of times, but surely he didn’t hate _every_ public encounter he had. Surely there had been at least one person he’d enjoyed speaking to. Still… “Well… I really meant…” she started, but cut herself off. She was thinking of how the girls had gushed over Ophelia and how that must have made him feel, having the memory of his dead wife brought up. But she decided not to mention it herself, either, not wanting to compound his mood.

And it turned out to be a mood, too. Fitz remained mostly quiet as they got into the rental convertible and started the drive out to the countryside. Any of Jemma’s attempts at starting a conversation were met with mostly one-word answers and pensive faces. He stared straight ahead, his hands tight on the wheel, and didn’t even smile when she said her family had gone on holiday to Perthshire once when she was a young girl. 

She knew he must be thinking of Ophelia: the constant reminders, how much her death had affected him, how much he must miss her, even still. Watching the tense line of Fitz’s jaw as they drove through the rolling green hills of Perthshire, Jemma wished she were enough to make him forget. It was selfish of her to think so, she knew that, but she couldn’t help it. She wanted to be enough to help him through his bouts of grief, to make him smile, to help him put it all behind him and move on. But she couldn’t, and it left her feeling small and unimportant.

After about an hour of driving, Fitz turned the car off the road and onto a narrow gravel drive bordered by thick hedges that led to a small two-story cottage. It looked charming: stone cladding, mullioned windows, and a riot of flowering bushes and climbing ivy planted outside. It was, essentially, a fairytale cottage.

Looking over at Fitz, Jemma breathed a small sigh of relief to see that he looked much more relaxed now. There was even a small smile on his face as he put the car into park and switched off the ignition.

“Here we are,” he said, and his expression when he glanced at her was warmer than it had been, a touch excited. “It’s called Rowanlea Cottage. I bought it as a place I could use to get away to when I’m able. And it’s close to my mum, so.” He got out of the car and walked around to the boot to fetch their luggage; Jemma followed. “I really like it here.”

Inside, Jemma found the cottage to be cozy and tastefully decorated in neutrals accented with warm oranges and reds. The kitchen was small but charming, separated from the sitting room by a narrow staircase that led upstairs to two comfortable bedrooms and a modern, functional bath. She wondered if Fitz had bought the cottage like this or if he’d hired an interior designer—or if Ophelia had decorated herself. Whatever route he’d gone, it was a lovely little holiday home and it was easy to picture herself with Fitz here, enjoying the occasional weekend away.

Once they’d unpacked their luggage, Fitz took her outside to tour the back garden and walk out toward the farther edge of the property, where there was a copse of trees and a little rushing stream that ran to a lake in the distance.

“It’s good to just come out here and sit when the weather’s nice,” Fitz said, his hands in his pockets. “It’s so peaceful. All quiet except for the wind and the birds… you can really clear your mind. It helps me let go of stress and focus.”

“You have a lot of stress?” Jemma asked with a smile, gently teasing him.

Fitz scoffed lightly, but he was smiling too. “You know I do. I never imagined the company would get as big as it is, or that I would be so… well, famous.” He winced. “I started out building gadgets in a tiny flat in the East End just wanting to help people and now… here I am.”

“You’re still helping people,” Jemma said, reaching out to take his hand and give it a squeeze. “Just on a much wider scale than you might have ever anticipated.”

He laughed. “Yeah. I said I wanted to change the world but I don’t think I really appreciated what that meant. All the things that would come with it. But…” He turned his hand around in hers so he could tug her close enough to wrap his arms around her with a smile. “It all eventually brought me to you, so it can’t be too bad, yeah?”

Jemma couldn’t help but smile back as a pleased flush rolled through her. “Ooh, you’re a charmer,” she said, and pressed a kiss to his lips. Fitz’s smile only widened, which made her happy to see.

“Is it being charming if it’s true?” he asked, swaying them a little on the spot. “I hit the jackpot with an invention, build a business, acquire fame and fortune, and eventually am asked to be the keynote speaker at an annual biotech summit where you just happen to be presenting. See? I think some people might call it kismet.”

The thought passed through her mind that he never would have given her a second glance if he hadn’t already suffered a great personal tragedy, but Jemma left it alone. Fitz had already had enough reminders of Ophelia for one day. Instead, she simply kissed him again and smiled.

“I don’t think I really believe in fate,” she told him. “But I do believe we were in the right place at the right time. I’m lucky you came to my presentation and felt like chatting me up at the bar.”

“Maybe it was luck that had me at your presentation, but I _wanted_ to chat you up,” Fitz corrected her. “Brilliant research with a beautiful face to go with it? I was intrigued. And then rotten Kenneth wouldn’t let you get a word in.”

“Rotten Kenneth,” Jemma agreed, smiling.

Fitz smiled back brightly. “But I don’t think I would have had the nerve to actually approach you if I hadn’t caught you staring.”

Jemma had the grace to blush slightly. “Was a bit rude of me, wasn’t it? I was actually thinking about how I couldn’t get a word in, too. And feeling a bit sorry for myself as well. I thought I’d missed my chance.”

Fitz pulled her closer. “It’s a good thing I got the nerve to chat you up, then.”

He kissed her, and it felt as sweet as any of the kisses they had first shared in New York. Standing beneath the beech and the rowan trees that gave the cottage its name, set against the picturesque backdrop of the Perthshire hills, made Jemma feel perfectly content, and made her believe Fitz was too.

Letting go of her a bit, Fitz looked around at the trees and the babbling brook behind them. “Hey, do you have your mobile on you?” he asked. At her nod, he said, “We should take a picture.”

Jemma gave him an amused smile. “You? Want to take a picture?”

Fitz rolled his eyes and kissed her cheek. “Yeah, occasionally I want photos with my wife. Just as proof that we’re together. Plus, it’s beautiful here. Makes for a nice backdrop, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jemma agreed, pulling her phone from her pocket. She swiped in to her camera app, then held the phone up and centered them in the frame as Fitz pulled her close again. Making sure there was a nice view of the landscape in the background, she snapped a few quick photos. 

“That’s really nice,” Fitz murmured when she showed him the one she liked best. “You look beautiful.”

“ _We_ look beautiful,” she said. They did. They looked happy and in love, comfortable with each other. It was perfect.

-:-

Back inside, Jemma decided to make some tea. While the kettle was heating up, she took stock of the pantry to make a list of provisions they needed to grab from the grocer in the nearby village to make it through the weekend. As she was going through the rest of the kitchen, she came across some neatly-folded tea towels in one of the drawers next to the fridge. Pulling them out, she found that they were all monogrammed with the initials ‘OSF’ in a pretty shade of green.

She stared at the letters, an uncomfortable sort of queasiness lodging in her stomach. OSF. Ophelia Sarkissian-Fitz. She wanted to shove the towels back in the drawer and pretend she’d never seen them. She felt like she was holding something she shouldn’t be, something forbidden.

“Did you find the kettle?” Fitz asked, coming into the kitchen. He found Jemma standing there, holding the tea towels. “Oh, what’ve you got there?” He came up next to her and looked down at the towels in her hands, and his face went from cheerful to carefully blank. “Ah. I’d forgotten about those.”

He turned away to go pull two mugs down from the cabinet next to the stove, and Jemma watched him as she replaced the towels in the drawer and shut it. Two reminders in one day. It couldn’t be easy for him, but she couldn’t deny that there was a small, selfish part of her that wanted to stamp her foot and wish it could all just roll off his back. Fitz had her now. Wasn’t that enough?

“I’ve got a list of things we need from the grocer,” she said, watching Fitz drop tea bags into the mugs and pour water from the kettle over them. “Do you want to show me around the village once we’ve had our tea? We can stop by and pick everything up on our way back.”

Fitz winced and glanced briefly up at her, his eyes apologetic. “Actually… I’ve got a bit of a headache. Probably from concentrating on the road earlier.” He stirred some honey into her mug. “I think I’ll stay here and rest it off, if that’s alright.”

Jemma tried not to frown. He’d been fine outside in the garden, but… well, he’d just had Ophelia shoved in his face again. By her. She should cut him some slack. 

“Well… if you give me directions, I’m sure I can manage it on my own,” she said, putting some cheer into her voice. “And it’ll be nice to get out and explore for a bit. It’s such a beautiful day out.”

Fitz nodded and smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

-:-

An hour later, Jemma was walking down the narrow road that led from the cottage to the village a short distance away. She’d left Fitz lounging on the overstuffed sofa in the sitting room, the telly on low and his tablet mostly ignored in his lap. It didn’t seem all that conducive to resting off a headache, but she wasn’t going to press him about it. She didn’t want to start a row. She’d yet to ever mention Ophelia in front of him for fear of upsetting him and she didn’t want to start now.

Instead, she breathed in the sweet swell of the late summer air and looked at the stone and brick buildings around her as she turned onto the village’s high street. There was the local pub and inn with potted flowers sitting outside the door, there was the little post office, and there was a barber shop. Fitz wasn’t with her, but she could still make a nice afternoon of it.

He’d given her good directions and it didn’t take her long to find the grocer, just a few steps down the high street from the main village square. She smiled at the older lady manning the till as she came inside and picked up a basket to start her shopping.

After picking up the essentials to make it through the weekend—a pint of milk, some chicken and pasta to cook for dinner, half a carton of eggs and a rasher of bacon along with bread for breakfast—Jemma made her way back up to the front to pay. The woman at the till smiled at her as she started ringing up her items.

“You’re new,” she said pleasantly. “It’s not often we get unfamiliar faces around here. Have you just moved in?”

“Oh—no, I’m just here for the weekend,” Jemma explained, smiling. “I’m up at Rowanlea Cottage with my husband.”

The woman’s eyes lit up. “Really? You must be Jemma—Leo Fitz’s new wife,” she said. Slightly stunned, Jemma nodded, and the woman scanned another item as she added, “It’s so nice to meet you. Fitz used to come here all the time with Ophelia. His first wife, you know.”

A numb sort of resignation came over Jemma, her smile dimming. All of the happiness she’d felt earlier in the garden disappeared. Of course he did. The cottage wasn’t a place they could escape to just to have some time to themselves. Fitz couldn’t escape the memory of Ophelia and neither could she.

“I’m sure he did,” she murmured awkwardly.

“We all loved her here,” the old woman said as she slid the chicken Jemma had purchased into her bag. “She was so bright and fun, so full of life. Always asking after everyone.” She sighed. “It’s such a shame that she passed. So young.”

Jemma tried to swallow past the rock that had lodged in her throat. “Yes,” she said.

The woman blinked, then gave her head a tiny shake as if chasing the memories away and smiled brightly at her. “Well, we were all very happy here to read that Fitz had found love again. Hopefully this means that we’ll be seeing more of you now.”

Jemma managed a pale smile and paid for her items before leaving as quickly as she could. 

Back at the cottage, she unloaded all of her groceries and put them away before going to the sitting room, where she found Fitz stretched out on the sofa still watching the telly on low volume. He immediately sat up and put his feet on the rug to make room for her, holding his arm out in invitation.

“How was everything?” he asked as she sat down next to him, pulling her in close. “Did you find the shops alright?”

She nodded, pushing down the faint bubble of annoyance that had drifted up in her chest, saying she wouldn’t have had to search at all if he’d just come with her. Maybe then the lady at the grocer wouldn’t have mentioned Ophelia out of common courtesy. Or maybe she would have, and things would have been doubly awkward and Fitz would be even more upset.

“It was fine,” she said simply, settling in against his side.

She must not have replied as casually as she wanted to, because Fitz frowned and peered closely at her. “Was it? You don’t… sound fine.” He gave her a small squeeze. “Is everything alright? Did something happen?”

 _Damn._ “No, everything’s fine, it’s just…” She couldn’t very well tell him she was jealous of his dead first wife and felt like she was living in her shadow. That would go over all wrong. But what could she say? Jemma shrugged, trying to play it off. “It was nothing. Some people just have a habit of speaking without thinking, I suppose.”

Fitz’s frown deepened before his expression finally relaxed, understanding dawning on his face. “Oh. _Oh_. You didn’t run into Albie, did you?” When she scrunched her nose quizzically at him, he explained, “He’s the village drunk. He likes to sit out in the beer garden at the inn and heckle passersby. He’s harmless, really, but sometimes he can be a bit much. You didn’t meet him, did you?”

That actually pulled a short laugh from Jemma. “No. Oh, no, nothing like that. Just… well… the lady at the grocer was a bit of a busybody.”

“Oh.” Fitz pulled a face. “Doreen? Yeah, she can be that. I’m sorry. Well, you’re here now and you won’t have to go back the rest of the weekend.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Don’t give her another thought.”

Jemma tried not to, but it was difficult. She spent the rest of the day and well into the evening relaxing with Fitz, watching telly, chatting, cuddling, but she couldn’t shake the constant reminders of Ophelia from her mind. She was everywhere, it seemed. Online, out at the shops, in the people they met, in the corners of their home and this cottage. She was in the tight line of Fitz’s jaw and the haunted cast to his eyes whenever someone mentioned her. Jemma couldn’t escape her, and the weight was becoming oppressive.

It was Jemma who was married to Fitz now, who shared his life, but she couldn’t help but feel like she was a stranger intruding in on someone else’s home, using someone else’s things, sleeping in someone else’s bed. Loving someone else’s husband. A shadow dogged her steps everywhere she went now, whispering her name like a threat to remind her that Jemma would always come in second: _Ophelia_.

 _Ophelia, Ophelia, Ophelia._

-:-

The next morning, Jemma cooked scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast, which Fitz happily wolfed down. They lingered over their tea, discussing how they wanted to spend their day. Fitz declared that he was perfectly fine with being lazy on the sofa in his pajamas—his job didn’t afford him much downtime and he wanted to take advantage of it. That was the whole point of coming to Perthshire, he reminded her: the opportunity to steal a few peaceful days away from the bustle of London.

Jemma gave him the best smile she could. She was still feeling a bit out of sorts but didn’t want to let on about it. How could she? He’d think she was barmy for being upset, or even worse, get upset himself. She couldn’t let that happen; she didn’t want to put her troubles on him and compound his own. He had enough to be worried about, especially with whatever was going on at work. This was a holiday. She needed to sort her issues out on her own.

Once they were both settled comfortably on the sofa, Jemma’s feet in Fitz’s lap while he scrolled through Netflix looking for something to watch, she thumbed into her phone to check Instagram. She’d posted the photo she and Fitz had taken yesterday and she wanted to see if she’d gotten any comments. After her identity had leaked to the press she’d taken Daisy’s advice and set her account to private; thus, she felt reasonably safe sharing photos of Fitz with her followers, who were mostly comprised of friends, family, and members of the scientific community.

When she brought the photo up on the app, she found plenty of comments—just not the type she’d been expecting. Scrolling through them, she saw a few from friends complimenting her, but most of them were from strangers—people who had obviously slipped in and followed her before she’d locked her account down—and they were all yelling angrily at her.

 _HOW DARE YOU? that is Fitz and Ophelia’s place!  
_ _omg I recognize that that’s Ophelia’s cottage you can’t be there!_  
 _you ugly bitch I can’t believe you forced Fitz to take you to Ophelia’s cottage GET OUT_  
 _you’ll never replace Ophelia no matter how hard you try :)_  
 _he’s just pretending like he loves you sweetie <3_  
 _bet he thinks of Ophelia when he fucks you_

Jemma felt the sting of tears in her eyes. She’d seen comments like these and worse before, on Twitter, but today with her insecurities fresh on her mind, they were cutting a little too deep. Everything they were saying were things she was beginning to be afraid were true. It made her feel even more like she was intruding on someone else’s life, like she didn’t belong. It opened up an aching hole in her heart, large enough for all of her doubt and fear to rush into.

Feeling numb again, she scrolled through the comments a bit more. Her brother Rob, bless him, had jumped in and was attempting to defend her honor, but she knew she couldn’t do the same. It would end up in the press somehow. She was forced to sit back and take the abuse. Well, this time, she had to. These people were going on her block list.

“Hey.” Fitz’s voice cut through her thoughts, and she looked up to see him watching her. “Everything okay? You look upset.”

“Um—” Jemma tried to speak, to shrug it off, but then she blinked and a tear spilled over. The jig was up. 

“Hey, hey,” Fitz said again, this time in concern, and sat up to reach out and get his hands on her, pulling her close. “Hey. What’s got you upset?”

Jemma took in a shaky breath and tried to blink back the tears clinging to her lashes. “It’s—it’s—” She shook her head. “It’s nothing, I promise, it’s silly—”

Fitz wrapped his arms around her and kissed her temple. “It’s not nothing if you’re crying,” he told her gently. “Was it something on your mobile?” She nodded. “May I see?”

She didn’t want to show him. She didn’t want him to see any of it, worried about the effect it might have on him, but she didn’t want to look shifty by keeping it from him, either. So she sniffled and handed her phone over.

At first, Fitz’s face was impassive as he looked down at the screen, scrolling through the contents. Then his face hardened, his nostrils flared, and he looked—not upset, not filled with grief by the reminder of Ophelia. He looked _angry_.

“Well, that’s horseshite,” he snapped, tossing her phone onto the low coffee table in front of them. “Pretending to be in love with you? What the fuck are they on about? Don’t listen to any of that, they don’t know us.”

Jemma could only stare at him, unsure of what to say. She hadn’t quite expected this sort of reaction from him. She wasn’t sure _what_ she’d expected, really, but it had been something more along the lines of the quiet grief and shutdown he exhibited whenever Ophelia was mentioned. Not anger. He was acting more like the Fitz she’d met in New York, ready and willing to defend her.

“You mean you—you—” she fumbled, trying and failing to find her words. She was so confused, so weighed down by doubt and uncertain of her place that she couldn’t even bring herself to ask him for reassurement. 

Fitz took her face carefully in his hands and directed her to look at him. “I love you,” he said firmly. “Nothing can change that. Certainly not some stupid brainless wankers online.”

Then he smiled, though it looked somewhat pained, and leaned in to kiss her. It started out soft and sweet, though Jemma wasn’t sure who changed it: her, desperate for Fitz’s love and reassurance, or him, possibly needing to prove a point. All she knew was that suddenly she’d parted her lips for deep, intense kisses and Fitz was pressing her down into the sofa cushions, one hand sneaking up beneath her shirt to palm her breast.

Jemma sighed into his mouth and pulled him closer because she wanted him, needed him, _loved_ him, but the entire time her doubt was threading its way through her mind, and she couldn’t help but wonder if Fitz was doing this because he wanted her, too, or if he was just trying to forget.


	13. Chapter 13

“Those were some really nasty comments on your Instagram over the weekend,” Kenneth said conversationally as he brought a tray of prepared slides over to the lab bench Jemma stood at. 

She glanced up from the microscope she was bent over and sighed wearily. “Oh, you saw those?” She’d tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to put them out of her mind once she and Fitz had returned to London from Scotland. It seemed like every time she closed her eyes, all she saw was _you’ll never replace Ophelia_.

“Mmm-hmm,” Kenneth hummed, pulling on some nitrile gloves. “I follow you, remember? Love all those photos full of spore molds and dendrotoxin solution.” Jemma made a face at him, and he laughed and held up his hands as if to fend her off. “You can’t really blame the shippers, though. They’re crazy people, and to them it’s like you’re edging in on Ophelia’s territory. It’s sacred to them.”

Jemma’s stomach dropped at the overt mention of Ophelia, and she turned back to her microscope to hide her sour expression. “I’m Fitz’s wife,” she said, but she wasn’t able to mask the bitterness in her voice. “Ophelia is dead. It’s not like Fitz and I can break up and they can get back together.”

“Well, yeah, obviously,” Kenneth replied as he positioned a slide beneath the lens of his own microscope. “But she still has a pretty rabid following. Her death only made her achieve cult status.”

Jemma looked up again. “How do you know this?”

Kenneth paused in the midst of adjusting the focusing knobs and looked up as well. “I followed her on Instagram too,” he explained. “I liked all of that cybernetic stuff she was into, I thought it was really cool.”

Jemma nodded, absorbing the knowledge that her colleague, whom she saw nearly every day, was a fanboy of her husband’s dead first wife, and turned back to her work again. “Still,” she said at length, “it would be nice if people would realize that _I’m_ married to him now, and I’m not leaving. If people could stop comparing us, it would be lovely.” 

“Touchy, touchy,” Kenneth murmured, his gaze now trained on the eyepiece lens of his microscope.

“You would be, too, if you heard her name everywhere you went,” Jemma huffed.

Kenneth’s eyebrows went up to his hairline. “Okay, so you definitely need to grab some chocolate from the vending machine or something because you are _hormonal._ ”

Jemma bit her lip to keep from saying something she might regret, or would get her in trouble with their boss. It wasn’t worth it. He didn’t understand what she dealt with. Instead, she let out a slow, quiet breath and turned back to examining her slides. 

-:-

That night, Jemma was on the sofa in the sitting room when Fitz came banging in from work. “Another lovely day at the office,” he announced, heading straight for the stairs. “I’ve got to go take care of some things.”

“Hello to you, too,” Jemma said with a frown, looking over the back of the sofa at him. He was already halfway up the stairs, grumbling to himself as he adjusted his bag against his side so it wouldn’t hit the bannister when he rounded the corner. Jemma sighed. It looked like it would be yet another evening of Fitz locked up in his office doing whatever it was he did that he refused to talk to her about.

Surely he could spare an hour to sit and relax with her, or save it for after dinner. She felt like she barely saw him anymore. Sagging against the sofa cushions, she sighed and stared blankly at the telly for a moment before deciding to go downstairs and make him a drink.

A few minutes later, Jemma was carrying a tumbler of straight whisky over ice upstairs to the office. She would have done the usual scotch and soda, but the tone of Fitz’s voice as he’d come inside had told her that something a little stronger might be in order. Hopefully this would help settle him down some. Reaching the closed door to his office, Jemma knocked lightly before turning the doorknob and peeking in. 

“Hey,” she said softly, finding Fitz seated at his desk with several binders spread across it in front of him, a few of them open. “I brought you something to drink.”

He looked up at her entry and gave her a small, tired smile, reaching out to take the glass tumbler from her when she came forward to hand it to him. “Whisky straight?” he asked, regarding it with a faint air of amusement. “At the rate you’re going, you’re going to turn me into an alcoholic like my father.”

He took a small sip and set the glass down out of the way of his binders with a smile, but Jemma blinked, stung. How could he say such a thing? All she was trying to do was help him the way Ophelia had, like Alistair had suggested. It had yet to work—he still hadn’t opened up to her—but she kept at it because she loved him and worried about him. Not because she was intentionally driving him to drink.

“Um… what are you working on?” she ventured hesitantly, nodding at the binders laid across the desk.

Fitz sighed and shook his head, resting his elbow on the desk and putting his forehead in his hand. “Ah, the board of directors are running me ragged with a new project,” he said with another sigh.

Jemma looked pointedly at the mess strewn across his desk. “A project in binders?”

He shifted to shut the one open directly in front of him, putting his arm across it. “Yes,” he replied. “Proposals, contracts, legalese. You know, all that boring technical crap.”

She might have taken him at his word if it weren’t for the way his cheeks flushed. He was lying. She knew he was. A part of her desperately wanted to press the issue, to ask him what was really going on, to demand why he was hiding things from her, but she was mostly afraid to make him upset. That, and she was also afraid of rejection. She worried that if she asked again, he would only double down and lie more. She didn’t think she could bear it.

“Must be top secret,” she said, trying to give him an out.

Fitz nodded, not meeting her eyes. “Very top secret. Government defense contract. It’s got an NDA and everything.” He glanced up, and his eyes were nervous, wary.

Her stomach sank even more. He definitely wasn’t going to open up to her, and the drink hadn’t worked. Why had she thought it would? It hadn’t yet, why would this time be any different?

“Well… I’ll leave you to it, then,” Jemma said quietly, twisting her fingers together at her sides. “Do you want me to order in Indian for dinner?”

Fitz’s expression smoothed out a bit. “Yeah. Yeah, that would be nice.” He looked up at her fully and gave her the smallest of smiles. “Thanks.” 

Jemma barely managed one in return. “Alright.”

Then she turned and went downstairs to the kitchen. There, she rummaged through the takeaway menus they had in a drawer to find the one for the local Indian place and order Fitz his favorite. Once that was done, she went back to the sitting room to curl up on the sofa. As she stared blankly at the telly, tears welled up in her eyes.

Why was Fitz lying to her? What was he hiding? What was so important or terrible about his work that made him feel like he couldn’t share it with her? She didn’t believe for one second that it was anything like a government contract. Fitz would be open with her about that, even if he couldn’t discuss the details. No, he was being far too cagey, and she didn’t understand why. Why was he rebuffing all of her attempts at help, solace, empathy?

It was all very confusing and utterly disheartening. Swallowing and blinking back her tears, Jemma found herself once again thinking about New York and the Fitz she’d met there. He’d been so open, so willing to bring her into his life. Now? He was shutting her out, and she didn’t know why. Had she done something wrong? Did he not trust her?

 _He doesn’t. Not the way he trusted Ophelia_ , a small voice whispered in her mind.

She didn’t want to believe it, but what else was there? Alistair had said Ophelia had always talked Fitz through his problems. He was obviously struggling with work now, but he wouldn’t let her help him. Something had gone wrong—there was a fault in their relationship—and she couldn’t figure out the source of it.

She wanted to ask him why he wouldn’t talk to her. But she was afraid the answer would break her heart.

-:-

A week later, Jemma accompanied Fitz to a biannual dinner held for the top brass at LJF Tech. She was a little nervous; she knew Fitz was the one everyone at the company looked to and as a result, she wanted to put her best foot forward and make a good impression as his new wife. She’d dressed smartly in a conservative navy blue cocktail dress and sensible pumps she’d bought just for the occasion, and done her hair and makeup stylishly but not elaborately. Fitz had told her she looked beautiful when she’d emerged from the bathroom and that confidence boost had given her hope that she could live up to expectations.

She was trying not to think about what those expectations might be, but she knew they were inevitable: she would be compared to Ophelia. If not overtly, then at least quietly in everyone’s minds. She wanted to prove that she was of value all on her own.

At the restaurant, an incredibly posh place in Mayfair that specialized in French cuisine, they were immediately greeted by an impeccably-dressed host. As they followed him, Fitz gave Jemma’s hand a gentle squeeze and leaned in close to speak just to her.

“This isn’t my favorite thing to do,” he murmured, “but they’re not a bad bunch. Some of them have been with me from the start. Just be yourself and I know they’ll love you.”

So he’d gathered that she was nervous. Brilliant. She gave him a small smile and squeezed his hand in return.

In the private dining room they were shown to—all paneled wood walls and a coffered ceiling with a large table covered in a white tablecloth and expensive china and glassware—Fitz introduced Jemma to the people who were already gathered there, waiting to be seated. There was Reggie, the Vice President of Operations, who had brought his wife Linda, and Samantha, the bright woman who headed up the fiscal department. There was Peter and Harry and Juliet, whose positions in the company she quickly lost track of, and Susannah, the head of Media Relations. It quickly became a sea of faces and polite words and pleasantries exchanged, and Jemma did her best to keep up and be as warm and open as possible. Everyone seemed pleased to meet her, which was a relief. She wanted to make a good impression not just for her own sake, but Fitz’s as well.

When they were finally seated, Jemma had Fitz on one side of her and, on the other, an older gentleman whom Fitz had introduced to her as Holden Radcliffe, the head of the cybernetics division that was currently being reorganized. He’d accepted her hand with a gentle but firm shake and a warm smile, appearing genuinely happy to meet her and interested in speaking to her before they’d had to move on to make more introductions.

When Fitz was drawn into a discussion with Reggie on Manchester United’s performance in the current World Cup standings during the second course, Jemma decided to turn to Radcliffe to try and strike up a conversation.

“So… you said you’re the head of the cybernetics division, yes?” she asked to get his attention.

Radcliffe looked up from his salmon mousse and smiled politely. “Yes, that’s right,” he replied. “Rather, I’m the head of whatever it ends up being next. I believe the name ‘Accessibility Aids Division’ has been floated, but nothing set in stone yet.”

Jemma smiled back. “How long have you been with the company?”

“Almost seven years now.” Radcliffe took a sip of his wine. “I came to the company from the startup that Ophelia, Fitz’s first wife, and I ran together. She merged the business with LJF Tech before they were married.”

Jemma nodded. She’d known most of this already—that Ophelia had brought the cybernetics portion to Fitz’s company and joined them together. But she couldn’t help but feel her spirits drop. Here was yet another person who’d known Ophelia in life and who would undoubtedly want to gush about how wonderful she’d been.

“Fitz did a wonderful thing with what we had,” Radcliffe continued. “We were really struggling to get our designs off the ground and into production. But Fitz took the specs and really streamlined them, made them more efficient, made them _work_. Without him, I don’t doubt it would have taken Ophelia and me several more years to have our first fully-functional prototype. But Fitz made it happen.”

“He is rather brilliant,” Jemma said with a smile.

Radcliffe shook his head. “He likes to play it off and spread credit around the company, but the success of the cybernetics division was entirely down to Fitz’s hard work.” His gaze shifted past Jemma to glance briefly at Fitz, and he smiled as he let out a small chuckle. “He’s truly a genius, and he deserves every accolade he gets.”

Jemma smiled again, pleased at his praise of her husband. It was obvious that Radcliffe admired Fitz and enjoyed working with him, which made her feel proud. But it was also a little curious. He hadn’t mentioned Ophelia at all beyond saying he’d worked with her. Radcliffe was someone who had known her longer than even Fitz had, had been close to her, and he wasn’t extolling her virtues the way Jemma would expect him to.

Well. Maybe that just meant Radcliffe actually had manners and knew she wouldn’t want to spend dinner listening to stories of Fitz’s first wife. That put him above half of Britain, at least.

“And he’s looking good,” Radcliffe went on, digging back into his mousse. “Since he married you. I haven’t seen him look this bright in ages.”

Jemma’s expression morphed into a small frown as she swallowed a bite of her own mousse. Radcliffe was noting a change in him, just like Mack and Elena had, just as his mum had, and while she might have believed it when she’d first moved in with him, it was different now. Fitz was changing.

“People keep saying that,” she said before she could stop herself. “But I’m not sure I believe it.”

It was Radcliffe’s turn to frown. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Jemma reached for her wine to take a sip, and glanced aside at Fitz. He was still deep in conversation with Reggie. He wouldn’t overhear her. 

“He’s… well, he’s very moody now,” she said, unsure if she was making a good decision in telling Radcliffe this. He seemed like a good man, but she didn’t know what the inter-office politics were like at LJF Tech. “He brings work home with him almost every day and shuts himself in his office for hours. It’s different from the man I met in New York.”

Radcliffe nodded as he swallowed a sip of his wine, looking thoughtful. “He’s got a lot on his mind,” he said, rather enigmatically in Jemma’s opinion. “He’s under a lot of pressure right now at the office. I’m sure he’d tell you about it if he felt he could.” He paused, then offered her a smile. “But you _have_ been a good influence on him. Everyone can see it.”

Jemma was only able to manage a small, uncertain smile in return, feeling wholly incapable of being anything good for Fitz at the moment, no matter what Radcliffe, an impartial third-party observer, said. Nothing had been working at home. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said, aiming for modesty but likely just sounding pathetic. “I know I’m not… well, very active socially, or well-known, and I’m not very good about getting him out of the house… maybe I should get involved in charities like Ophelia was. She was good at that. It’s just—” She winced and shrugged helplessly. “I don’t mean to sound gauche, but I’m not used to having this much money yet. I forget that I do and find myself still counting prices at Waitrose. Anyway—I’m trying my best, but I know Fitz must miss Ophelia very much. Everyone says she was wonderful. Losing a spouse like that would devastate anyone. I just… hope I can be enough for him.”

She reached for her wine and took a large gulp, aware that she was rambling and had likely overshared. It was very unlike her to act like this, but her doubts had led her to it—the fear of not measuring up, not being enough for Fitz and needing any reassurance at all just made the words spill out. Even mentioning Ophelia in the first place had left an acrid taste in her mouth that the wine was doing little to wash away. But when she looked back at Radcliffe, Jemma found that instead of being embarrassed or put off by her, he was looking at her rather strangely. He almost looked _sad_.

“Take it from an old man who has seen a lot,” he said, putting out a hand towards her on the table. “Kindness and sincerity mean more than any amount of charitable giving. Trust me, you are _exactly_ what Fitz needs.”

He gave her another smile before turning back to his meal, leaving Jemma to wonder what in the world he meant. Elena had told her much the same thing, weeks ago. She wanted to believe them, that she was everything Fitz needed and could help him through his work-related woes, but at the moment it felt rather hopeless. She couldn’t get through to him and that knowledge had created a hollow ache in her heart, knowing she was failing to live up to the woman who had come before her.


	14. Chapter 14

Jemma carefully made her way upstairs to the second floor, holding a full glass of red wine. Fitz was holed up in his office working again, as was his habit now, but since his comment regarding her trying to turn him into an alcoholic, she’d laid off bringing him hard liquor. She’d mostly sworn off bringing him drinks at all, but he’d looked particularly annoyed tonight, the worst he’d looked yet, so she thought one glass of wine couldn’t hurt. Even if he wouldn’t talk to her, perhaps the drink might soothe his nerves a bit.

As she reached the landing at the top of the stairs, she could hear Fitz’s voice coming from behind the closed door to his office.

“Yes, yes,” he was saying, his tone agitated, “I’ve read the report a thousand times already. And I know what it says—it was stealing, plain and simple.”

Jemma stopped just outside the door, frowning. He was obviously on the phone with someone. She wondered who exactly he was talking to, and what about. If someone was stealing from the company, it had to be very serious.

“I know, but we just need solid proof,” Fitz said, and now he sounded frustrated. “That’s all we’ve ever needed.” A pause. “Yes, I _know_ we can’t. Yes, I’ve tried everything I can think of.” Another pause where Jemma crept closer to the door. “Fine.”

Then, before she could react, the door suddenly opened and Fitz barreled into her, upsetting the wine glass she was holding and spilling it all over both of them and the carpet. “ _Jesus_ , Jemma!” he cried as she yelped and stepped back from him. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“I—I was—” She looked in despair from their ruined shirts to the mess on the carpet. “I’m sorry, I was just bringing you something to drink—”

“Are you _trying_ to make me like my father?” he demanded, putting his hands on his hips and glaring at her.

Jemma sucked in a breath and took a tiny step back, wounded by his accusation. Of course not. She was only doing what Ophelia had done to help him, to no avail. But she couldn’t get the words out, too hurt to speak. Fitz must have seen it on her face, though, because his posture collapsed and he hung his head with a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, reaching out to take her by the arms and give her a gentle squeeze. “I’ve had a shite day, but I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

Still hurt but encouraged by his apology, Jemma took a step forward into his space. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

Fitz shook his head, and her heart fell right back through the floor. “No,” he said. “I don’t want to trouble you with any of it.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. The last of her hope was crumbling to dust. “I don’t mind.”

He gave her a quick, pale smile. “I’m sure. Nothing for you to worry about.”

Jemma swallowed past the lump that had formed in her throat and willed herself not to cry. Fitz didn’t need to see that. “Alright. I’ll just…” She stepped away, out of his hold, and nodded down at the wine stain on the carpet. “I’ll just get this cleaned up, then.”

She headed down to the kitchen to fetch the carpet cleaner, blinking back tears. Fitz was never going to trust her with his problems. Why was she still trying? Alistair’s words about how Ophelia had always helped Fitz through things that frustrated him came back to taunt her. She envisioned how the scene would have gone differently with Ophelia instead: taking the wine upstairs, finding Fitz in his office. He wouldn’t have yelled at her. He’d take the drink from her and explain what was bothering him, showing her what was in the binders he brought home every night. She’d perch on the edge of the desk and talk him through it until they found a solution together.

It would be perfect. It was more than she, Jemma, could give him, because it was more than he would _let_ her give him.

That was how Alistair found her: tearing through the kitchen looking for the carpet cleaner, half in anger and half in despair as she imagined Fitz and Ophelia’s perfect life. He watched her open and close cabinet doors for a moment before asking mildly, “What’s wrong?”

Jemma glanced up, distracted and deep in her feelings. “Oh—I spilled some wine on the carpet upstairs. And on Fitz. He’s probably changing into a new shirt because I’ve ruined his.” She gestured at herself. “And mine too.” Sighing, she turned back to her search, thinking about how miserably she was failing at everything.

Alistair walked to the fridge and opened it to pull a beer out before looking at her again. “Fitz moved out of the master bedroom after Ophelia’s death, you know,” he said casually. A bit _too_ casually. “He took the bedroom up on the top floor.”

Jemma straightened up from bending to look beneath the sink and stared at him. This was the absolute worst time for him to bring up his weird obsession with Ophelia, but of course he couldn’t know that. When she didn’t immediately reply, he made a show of inspecting his nails.

“He didn’t come back down until he married you,” Alistair continued. “He spent that whole year upstairs. And even then he had all of the furniture in the master bedroom replaced before you ever saw it. Funny, that.”

Jemma just continued to stare at him. She couldn’t begin to fathom what point he was trying to make. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked tiredly.

Alistair shrugged mildly. “Ophelia’s death changed my son a lot. He couldn’t set foot in that room until you came to this house. That’s all I’m saying.”

Jemma felt like she’d swallowed a bag of gravel. Fitz’s grief had driven him out of the master bedroom? And he’d only returned because of her? She thought of all the nights they’d spent in bed there, cuddled up, sleeping next to each other, making love, and suddenly it was all tainted. He didn’t want to be there. He was only tolerating it for her.

If Alistair was aiming to make her feel guilty, it worked. Finally spying the can of carpet cleaner half-hidden behind the bin bags beneath the sink, she stooped to grab it along with the scrub brush next to it. “Excuse me,” she mumbled, and beat a hasty retreat back upstairs.

Scrubbing at the wine stain on the carpet gave her something to focus on that wasn’t Fitz or Ophelia or her own crumbling self-esteem. Instead she could spray, scrub, and repeat, removing a little bit of the dark red stain each time through the process. It wasn’t completely gone; she might have to hire a professional cleaner to come in and finish the job, but it kept her mind off her tumbling feelings.

Some time later, approaching footsteps made her look up. It was Fitz, now wearing his flannel pajamas, a white cotton tee, and a contrite face. Jemma swallowed back another wave of emotion. He still looked so handsome even all dressed down, and she loved him so much. Her heart ached knowing that he was deliberately pushing her out of a part of his life.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Look, I really am sorry for earlier.”

Jemma glanced up at him and gave him a quick smile that she didn’t really feel. “It’s alright.”

The way he pursed his lips told her he wasn’t really convinced, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot a bit. “Are you about done?” he asked, gesturing to the carpet. “I thought maybe we could, um, eat pizza and watch telly. With beer, or white wine, so if we spill it, it won’t stain.” He let out an awkward laugh and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Because obviously I am not doing a good job at that tonight.”

Absurdly, Fitz’s clear awkwardness and desire to repair the harm he’d done only made Jemma want to cry again. It was a reinforcement of how hot and cold he’d been with her lately—distant and grumpy one moment, then sweet and adoring the next—and it only made her feel even more out of sorts. But she loved him and wanted to be with him, so she gave him the only response she could.

“Sure. That sounds lovely.” She sat back on her heels and gestured at her own ruined shirt. “Let me change out of this and I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Later, as she curled up against Fitz’s side on the sofa with the remains of their dinner on the coffee table in front of them, Jemma tried to find some comfort in the weight of his arm around her shoulders. She tried to be present in the moment and fully engage him in the conversation they were having about the show they were watching. But she couldn’t do it. She felt miserable. All she could think about was the fact that he was hiding something big from her, and how the ghost of Ophelia stood between the two of them, pushing them further and further apart.

-:-

“He’s hiding something from me.”

Jemma was having another lunch date with Daisy at the Pret-a-Manger by her lab, and she was finally confessing her worries about Fitz. Except, rather than feeling like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders by getting the words out, she only felt worse. It was like saying it all out loud was making it manifest physically, making it something real and true rather than a silly doubt that lived solely inside her mind.

She frowned deeply into her salad while, across the table from her, Daisy took a bite of her sandwich and gave her a shrewd look. “Is he really hiding it, though?” she asked around a mouthful of food. “Maybe he’s just trying to keep work and home separate.”

“He’s doing a rotten job of it,” Jemma said before she could stop herself. At Daisy’s raised eyebrows, she explained, “He comes home and shuts himself up in his office almost every night now. And he won’t tell me what he’s doing, even when I ask.” She sighed. “Well, he’ll tell me it’s some big project he’s working on that’s very hush-hush, but I don’t believe him. I heard him on the phone the other night talking to someone about things being stolen. I wish he would just _tell_ me. I want to help.”

Daisy finished chewing another bite of her sandwich and reached for her lemon squash. “If it’s got to do with theft, it might involve a criminal investigation,” she pointed out. “He might not _be_ able to tell you anything.” 

“But he could at least tell me that _something_ is going on, instead of lying to my face,” Jemma protested unhappily. “I just—I wish I could help him like…”

She trailed off, her voice failing her. Daisy frowned in concern. “Like who?” she asked.

Jemma looked down at her plate and was silent for a long moment. “Ophelia,” she whispered.

A deep furrow appeared between Daisy’s eyebrows. “I don’t understand.”

Jemma blinked several times as she felt the faint prick of tears in her eyes, the same feelings of despair and inadequacy that she always felt whenever she thought of Fitz’s first wife now rising up to the fore again. “She used to help Fitz with everything,” she said, ashamed of the way her voice wobbled. “His father told me. She’d talk him through all of his problems, but he won’t let me do the same. I just want to know _why_. And I’m afraid it’s because I’m not her.”

“Well… they were married for several years, right?” Daisy replied awkwardly. “Maybe he’s not comfortable sharing yet—”

“And it’s not just that, it’s everything,” Jemma cut in quickly, desperation tinting her tone. “Everyone is always comparing us, and I’m sick of it. How we dress, how we look, what we do. And I’m always told I’m not good enough.” Well, that wasn’t strictly true. Elena and Radcliffe hadn’t found her lacking, but what were they in an entire sea of naysayers? Jemma shook her head, avoiding Daisy’s frown. “And every time he’s reminded of her Fitz gets—stuck in grief. He goes quiet and tense and doesn’t speak and oh, his _face_.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “It’s awful.”

“She _was_ his wife,” Daisy said, not unkindly. “Of course he’d be upset.”

Jemma blinked back tears again. “I know. I know! But—I don’t think he’s over her. I—I want to be enough for him, I want to make him happy, but…” She trailed off again and hung her head. “I can’t compare to her. I feel like I’m living in her shadow.” A pause. “Oh, I sound horrible.”

Across the table, Daisy’s expression had turned very grave. “Do you feel like you made a mistake, getting married?” she asked gently, after a moment.

Jemma immediately wanted to reject that notion. Fitz wasn’t a mistake, not at all. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her. She was just no longer sure if she was the best thing to happen to him.

“No, I don’t,” she began, swallowing thickly. “We just—well, we did things rather out of order, didn’t we? We got married very quickly, and _now_ we’re getting to know each other better.” She looked up at Daisy with sad eyes. “I love him with all my heart. I’ve never felt more seen or valued than I did that week we had together in New York. He just feels so _distant_ now. I don’t know what to do about it. One of his colleagues told me he’s been very stressed at work. Maybe… maybe this is all connected to that and I just need to be patient.”

But even as she said the words, they rang hollow in her ears. She knew it was deeper than simple work stress. She just didn’t want to think about what she feared the real source of Fitz’s distance might be, and what the fallout might mean.

Daisy gave her a small, sympathetic smile. “Don’t you think you should talk to him about this? I’m sure Fitz would want to know if you were upset.”

Jemma let out a short, sad laugh. “Oh, no. No, I can’t. Can you imagine how ridiculous I’d sound? ‘I’m jealous of your dead first wife.’” She shook her head. “And with how upset he gets whenever she’s mentioned, I can’t do that to him. I don’t want to hurt him. I’ll just… deal with this on my own.”

Daisy watched her for a moment, then sighed and reached for her drink. “Well, you know I’ll always be here for you, no matter what,” she said. “But for what it’s worth, I think Fitz is crazy about you. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. That’s not a guy who’s still pining over his first wife.”

A tiny smile tugged at the corners of Jemma’s mouth. Daisy was saying exactly what she needed to hear in order to feel better, and it did help a bit, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to fully believe it. She just kept replaying the way Fitz would close down every time Ophelia was mentioned, and how he kept brushing off her attempts to get him to open up to her. Could he really be that crazy about her if he was shutting her out?

“We’ve got this posh tech gala coming up that we’re going to,” she said, trying to find a positive in her life to mention. “Maybe that will perk him up a bit. He used to go to things like that all the time and enjoyed them.” She recalled that Fitz had said he didn’t go to events anymore, but surely he was simply out of the habit? “Anyway, I’m looking forward to it. Maybe getting out and having a good time will relax him a bit.”

“Yeah!” Daisy said, latching onto the positive as well. “Get dressed up, go out together looking cute, have some drinks and hang out? Sounds like fun to me. I bet it’ll do him a lot of good to spend some time with you. He’s just stressed with work, I bet. Give him some time and you guys will be fine.”

Jemma smiled again, a little more genuinely this time. Maybe Daisy was right. She usually was. Fitz’s stress was just leaking over to her. Right? She just needed to give him time to sort his issues at work and she would get her husband back.

But there was still the problem with Ophelia.

-:- 

Jemma was in the kitchen that evening prepping for dinner when Fitz came in from work. As he crossed the room to her from the stairs, she noticed that he didn’t have his bag with him and that he was actually smiling. “Hey, you,” he said, stepping in close to kiss her cheek. “What’s for dinner?”

“Spag bol,” Jemma replied, gratefully accepting his kiss. “Your mum sent me her recipe. Oh—before I forget—Daisy reminded me about the gala next week. If you want to pick out a suit to wear, I can send it out to be cleaned.”

Alistair, who was sitting at the window booth with a beer and the _Times_ crossword and who had been pretending Jemma didn’t exist up until this point, looked up. “You’re going to a gala?” he asked.

Fitz ignored him. “Sure. Unless some designer wants me to show off a tux or something like that. I’ll go find one later tonight.”

Jemma rolled her eyes fondly and grinned at him. “You’re so rich and famous.”

“That I am, to my constant dismay.” Fitz grinned back and leaned in again to give her a proper kiss on the lips. “Let me get changed, I’ll be back in a bit.” He turned to head for the stairs, and Jemma watched him go with a smile before turning her attention back to the beef mince and spices she had sitting out on the island. That was a lot more like the Fitz she had married.

Once he’d disappeared up the stairs, Alistair cleared his throat. “So the two of you are going to a gala?” he asked again.

Jemma glanced over at him as she turned to the stove to switch on one of the burners beneath a pan she’d already set out. “Yes,” she replied. “Fitz won’t be able to wiggle his way out of this one. The company’s got some prototypes on show, so he’s got to put in appearance to talk them up.”

“Ah.” Alistair nodded once, then looked at her over the rim of his reading glasses. “What are you planning to wear?”

She shrugged even as she wondered why he was asking. “I haven’t picked anything out because I haven’t really had any time yet to think about it. I was planning on going shopping this weekend.”

Alistair nodded again, and Jemma braced herself, fearing he was going to bring Ophelia up as he usually seemed wont to do in these instances. Instead, she was pleasantly surprised when he simply filled in a blank line on his crossword. “You should consider something green,” he said. “Fitz would like it. It’s his favorite color.”

“Oh.” It seemed like an odd thing to say, coming from her father-in-law, but ultimately harmless. And it wasn’t something she’d thought to ask Fitz yet. It would be a nice thing to do, wouldn’t it? Wearing a dress in his favorite color might put a grin on his face. She gave Alistair a smile. “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll think about it.”

The next day found Jemma shopping online over her lunch break at work, deliberately looking through green dresses on her computer. She’d gone through dozens before one caught her eye—a slinky forest green silk number with a crossover halter neck and inverted pleats on the skirt that made it flare gently out around the legs. It wasn’t something she might usually consider; she normally favored blues and deep reds, but she thought this shade of green would look lovely with her brown hair and hazel eyes. Imagining the reaction Fitz might have to the way the dress would hug her body put a smile on her face. Jemma pulled out her credit card before she could talk herself out of it.

That night, Fitz came out of the bathroom after brushing his teeth with a quizzical look on his face. “Hey, did you buy something today?”

Jemma looked up from her perusal of her Twitter feed on her phone. “I did. Why?”

He shrugged and came around the side of the bed to slide beneath the sheets and join her. “I got a fraud alert from the bank on a questionable purchase and was just wondering if it was you, that’s all.”

“Oh, I bought a dress for the gala.” Jemma set her phone down on the bedside table. “I’m sorry. Did you get everything sorted with the bank?”

Fitz waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ve just never bought anything from Debenham’s before, so the bank got anxious.” He paused, then looked at her with a sly smile. “So you bought a dress? What’s it look like?”

Feeling pleased with her purchase and encouraged by his interest, Jemma smiled back. “It’s a surprise,” she replied, lifting her chin playfully.

“ _Oh_ , a _surprise_.” Fitz picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “No hints?” When she shook her head, his smile widened and he kissed her hand again. “Alright, fine. I look forward to seeing your smashingly gorgeous surprise next week.”

Well, if he was going to put it _that_ way… Jemma beamed, feeling like the gala was really something to look forward to now—something that could help put their relationship back on the right track.


	15. Chapter 15

The day of the gala, Jemma planned to take a few hours’ leave from work in order to have enough time to get ready for the evening. Kenneth watched as she tidied up her bench and work station, making sure everything was in order for when she returned after the weekend.

“Where are you off to?” he asked.

Jemma looked up from shutting down her computer. “I’ve got this posh tech gala at Southbank Centre I’m going to with Fitz,” she said. “And, you know, those things take time to prepare for, so—I’m taking off a little early.”

Kenneth crossed his arms and swiveled his chair to more directly face her. “I gotta say, I’m surprised you haven’t gone to work for him yet.”

“Fitz?” Jemma frowned. “Why would I do that? I like working here, and I’m not interested in using his influence to further my career or anything like that. I hate nepotism.”

“Ophelia worked with Fitz,” Kenneth pointed out.

Jemma paused in the midst of picking up her bag, and her whole body went stiff. Of course. Because everything was about bloody Ophelia. “I’m not Ophelia,” she said coolly.

Kenneth snorted softly and swiveled to face his computer. “Obviously not,” he muttered.

Something about his tone put Jemma on edge. She didn’t like it one bit. Narrowing her eyes at the back of his head, she asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He half-turned his chair back around to stare back at her. “Look. Fitz met you barely a year after his wife’s death and married you less than a week later. Do you really think he did that for your scintillating personality?”

A numb sort of cold fell over her, anger thrumming in her veins. “You don’t know anything about us,” she bit out.

Kenneth shrugged gamely, like he wasn’t casting aspersions on her marriage. “Maybe I don’t, but I do know that men don’t lose their spouse like that and get married in a flash a year later because they’re in love.” His expression morphed into something that could only be called derisive pity. “You’re a rebound.”

Her blood turned to ice as her stomach roiled unpleasantly. Swallowing, Jemma picked up her bag and slung the strap over her shoulder, then stood as tall as she could. “I’ll thank you not to speculate on my personal life anymore,” she said, her voice sharp like knives, and turned to leave the lab.

As much as she tried to put it out of mind—Kenneth was just being nasty, poking his nose where it didn’t belong—his words stuck with her, bouncing around her head the entire Tube ride home. _You’re a rebound. A rebound._

_A rebound._

She couldn’t be. Could she? Fitz loved her, even if they were currently going through a rough patch. He’d told her he felt a connection to her and he wanted to spend the rest of his life building on it. That counted for something, didn’t it? He told her he loved her every day. Surely someone who was on the rebound wouldn’t do that.

Even if he still quailed from any mention of his deceased first wife and shut down if she was ever brought up. That was just simple grief. He was allowed that. Wasn’t he? Even if he was married to her now. Emotions didn’t have an off switch. Fitz would still feel things for Ophelia even though he was remarried. Surely it was understandable?

Jemma arrived home to find that Fitz had beaten her there and was in the bathroom trimming his scruff, his freshly-cleaned tux laid out on the bed, waiting to be put on. “Hey,” he said, catching her gaze in the mirror, and switched off his beard trimmer, setting it down on the vanity. He turned and held his arms out to her, pulling her in close when she was within reach. “Excited for tonight?”

“Actually, yes,” Jemma replied, accepting his chaste kiss of greeting with a small smile. “Getting to play dress-up with you will be the highlight of my week.”

Fitz laughed and gave her another kiss before turning away to pick up his comb. “Good. You’ll make the whole thing bearable.”

Her smile turned a little stilted where he couldn’t see as doubt crept in. A man who saw her as a rebound wouldn’t treat her like this, would he? He wouldn’t be sweet and kind and eager to go out with her. They’d been married not quite four months. If she were a rebound, wouldn’t the shine have worn off by now? Wouldn’t he be ignoring her?

The way he did when he shut himself inside his office to do whatever it was he did that was so important with his work?

She shook her head, chasing the thought away, just as Fitz turned back around. “So, when do I get to see your dress?” he asked, clearly aiming to be flirty.

Jemma fixed her smile back on her face, determined to be present in the moment and genuinely excited for her night out with her husband. It felt like the one good thing she had to hold onto now. “It’s a _surprise_ ,” she reminded him, lightly pushing at his arm. “You’ll see it when you see it.” 

Fitz held up his hands, pretending to fend her off. “Alright, I get it. I won’t ask again. But you’ve really got my interest up, you should know that. Just saying.” He leaned in for one more kiss before turning to go into the bedroom.

They both spent a fair amount of time getting ready, walking around each other in the bathroom. Jemma sat at the vanity to do her hair and makeup while Fitz was in and out, brushing his teeth, doing up his cufflinks, sliding his tux jacket on in front of the mirror. He’d drop kisses on top of her head as he passed if she didn’t have her curling wand wound up in her hair, and it made Jemma feel loved and adored. 

She knew Fitz was ready to go by the time she finished her hair, so she hurried to switch off her curling wand and unplug it before standing. Seeing him sitting on the bed scrolling through his phone, she shut the door to the closet so she could get dressed without him seeing her. Then she went to where her dress was hanging in a bag on her side of the closet and pulled it out.

It only took a few minutes to change into her dress along with the heels she’d bought to go with it. The dress fit almost perfectly, hugging her figure in all the right places and showing off her modest cleavage in a fashion that was tasteful rather than naff. Appraising her look in the mirror, Jemma was pleased. She’d curled her hair and pulled it into a simple twist that left her long locks falling over one shoulder, and the dark green shade of the dress made her pale skin glow.

She rather thought she looked stunning. Fitz wasn’t going to know what hit him. 

Jemma took in a deep breath, smoothed a hand down the front of her dress, and turned to go through the closet and into the bedroom.

When she opened the closet door, Fitz was standing at the foot of the bed, watching the news on the telly. He looked up at the sound of her entrance and she smiled, feeling an unexpected burst of shyness under his gaze. But instead of smiling back, Fitz’s expression went slack, his face draining of color.

“Wh—what’s that?” he demanded, eyes wide, his voice hollow.

Jemma’s face collapsed, feeling like he’d just punched her in the stomach. She glanced down at herself like she expected to see something that hadn’t been there a moment before, something that could have distressed Fitz, but all she saw was the green silk of her dress. “A dress?” she said, completely thrown and confused. 

Fitz took a step back, his face twisting in what looked like pain. “Can you please wear something else?”

Jemma’s jaw dropped. “Why? I don’t—”

“ _Please_ ,” Fitz begged, and turned away from her, squeezing his eyes shut.

Jemma stared at him, wounded to her core. How could a dress upset him this much? “I don’t understand,” she said. “It’s just a dress.”

Fitz reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, his eyes still tightly shut. “Jemma—please,” he ground out.

“But I bought this just for tonight,” she pleaded.

She saw his free hand curl into a fist at his side as he bowed his head, still pinching the bridge of his nose, his expression pulled into a grimace. “I don’t care, just— _please_ —wear something else,” he repeated. “ _Anything_ else.”

Jemma stood where she was for a moment, staring at him, completely crushed. She didn’t understand what was happening, what about her appearance upset him so much. A part of her wanted to yell, to demand he answer her, but he’d hurt her so badly that she had no fight left within her.

It was only when she turned to slink back into the closet, near tears and shutting the door softly behind her, that it hit her. In every single photo she’d ever seen of Fitz and Ophelia out at parties and events, Ophelia had been wearing the color green. Green pantsuits, green cocktail dresses, green evening gowns. Green in all shades, but especially dark green. Just like her dress.

Jemma slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the sharp sob that rose up in her chest. Oh, she’d really done it. She’d just gone and overtly reminded Fitz of Ophelia in the most horrible way and now he couldn’t stand the sight of her. Even worse than that was the knowledge that a simple color was too much for Fitz to bear—that the color green was completely off-limits because it would make him think of Ophelia and send him into a tailspin. How could she have known? How could she go on tip-toeing around him, forever trying not to accidentally remind him of the dead wife he still obviously cared deeply for?

She took several deep breaths in an effort to not completely lose her composure and start sobbing. She didn’t think she could do it. She couldn’t find another dress and go back out into the bedroom and take Fitz’s arm, not after he’d reacted to her that way. Not as utterly humiliated and broken as she was. But she had no choice—she had to put in an appearance, not just for Fitz’s sake, but for the company’s as well. They were both depending on her.

So she took another few minutes to try and calm down before stepping away from the door to look through her side of the closet. Her options were slim; she didn’t own many nice dresses by virtue of having no occasion for which to use them, and her heart sank even further as she realized she was going to look hideously frumpy compared to everyone else at the gala. Her best bet ended up being an old little black dress she had which, while being perfectly fine for going out for drinks and dancing, would not hold up well at a posh industry gala.

Jemma blinked back tears again as she changed dresses in front of the mirror above the vanity. Her only saving grace now was her hair and the fact that she would match Fitz’s tux. Black went well with everything, at least. But she looked horribly underdressed now, and she could only imagine what the press who would be present would say about Leo Fitz’s new wife, tragically ill-dressed for an important night out. What a shame, when Ophelia had always dressed so well.

She dried her tears, taking care not to smudge her makeup, and sighed. It was time to go back out and present a good face to the world. Her crushed feelings didn’t matter. She had to. Fitz and the company expected her to.

When she opened the door to the closet again, Fitz was still standing in front of the telly, but it was switched off and his hands were in his trouser pockets, his head bowed. He barely looked up at her entrance. Jemma came to a stop a few steps away from him, hands folded in front of her and her heart in her throat, unable to speak. She didn’t think she would be able to take it if he turned her away again.

Fitz glanced up, and she saw his eyes track over her new, old dress. He bit his lip, then extended an arm out to her. Jemma swallowed in an effort to keep from bursting into tears again as she cautiously stepped forward to accept it. He couldn’t even speak to her. She’d made a terrible mess of things and they weren’t even out the door.

He continued to stay silent as they went downstairs. Passing by the sitting room on their way to the front door, Jemma saw Alistair sitting in one of the armchairs watching telly. He looked up as they passed, and she swore she saw a malicious sort of smile light up his face before she passed by the archway and he was out of her view.

The drive to Southbank was excruciating. Fitz stayed silent, his hands firmly on the wheel of the car and his eyes focused straight ahead. Jemma alternated between watching him out of the corner of her eye and staring out the window in despair. She felt like a monster. She’d deeply hurt her husband, and she had no clue as to how to make it up to him. But she felt a hopeless anger about it, too—she’d done nothing wrong. It was just a dress. How was she supposed to know it would affect him this much?

Every time she opened her mouth to ask him about it, she faltered. She didn’t want to have a row with him. Not in the car, not on the way to a public engagement. She’d already ruined it enough as it was. Why ruin it further?

She shrank in her seat as the city lights slid past the window outside. She’d tried so hard to be a good wife to Fitz, to be the woman he needed, but she’d failed every time. She just couldn’t live up to Ophelia, and she was tired of trying.

A valet took their car once they arrived at the exhibition space hosting the gala at Southbank Centre, and Fitz offered her his arm again to escort her inside. But that was it. He didn’t speak to her, barely looked at her, felt stiff and uncomfortable beside her. Jemma had to fight against the threat of tears again. If this was a portent of things to come for their night, it was going to be terrible.

And it was. 

Fitz seemed fine if he was a few steps away from her talking to other people, discussing company business or drumming up interest in the prototypes he had on display, but when he came back to her, it was a different story. She didn’t know if anyone else noticed the change, but he barely touched her, his smiles were stilted, he only spoke to her when absolutely necessary, and when he did speak it was rather short and curt. He would simply introduce her as his wife to every new person they spoke to, and then the conversation would immediately meander elsewhere. Jemma felt smaller by the minute, invisible, and extremely unwanted. Fitz was such a far cry from the man who had wanted to spend every waking moment with her in New York that he was unrecognizable.

The worst was when they ran into acquaintances of Fitz’s or people who were a little more familiar with him than just colleagues. “It’s so good to see you!” they would all invariably say. “We haven’t seen you out in ages. It’s been too long.” Jemma could easily read between the lines and knew what they weren’t saying: _We haven’t seen you since Ophelia died._

Fitz knew it, too. She could tell from the way his jaw went tight every time someone commented on his absence from the public circuit, the way his eyebrows furrowed deeper and deeper, the way his hand occasionally twitched like he was itching to reach for a drink. It was hurting him even more, and she was powerless to stop it.

All because he’d effectively shut her out.

For her part, Jemma kept the drinks coming. If her husband was going to ignore her and make her feel rotten and put her through the worst night of her life, she could at least dull the pain with fruity cocktails. Drink in hand, she stayed by his side like the dutiful wife she was meant to be, smiled when she was supposed to, spoke when she was spoken to, and tried not to think about how miserably she was failing at being a good society wife in her frumpy black dress.

It came as a relief when Fitz announced that he had a headache and wanted to head home early. Jemma followed without protest, eager to go home and go to bed and put the entire horrible night behind her. Though, she thought dejectedly, sleeping in the guest bedroom up on the top floor was sounding rather inviting. She didn’t know how she could possibly sleep in the same bed as Fitz after a night like this.

The drive home was just as terrible as the drive to the gala had been, though this time Jemma thought Fitz was sneaking glances in her direction. But it didn’t matter, because he still wasn’t speaking, and she still didn’t know what to say to him. What could she say? _Sorry for buying a green dress?_ It was ridiculous. _Sorry for tearing open your grief?_ Too delicate. _Sorry for not being enough for you?_ Too selfish, but sadly true.

At home, Fitz went straight upstairs to his study without a word. Jemma slowly climbed the stairs after him to their bedroom, her mind numb but her heart broken. She went through the motions of getting undressed, changing out her dress and heels for yoga pants and a jumper, then went to the bathroom to wash her face clean of makeup and take down her hair, brushing it out before pulling it back into a ponytail.

Then she went out into the bedroom and stared at the bed—the bed she’d shared with Fitz ever since moving in with him. They’d shared so many conversations there, watched telly, slept together and cuddled and made love. She thought about Alistair telling her that Fitz hadn’t stepped foot in the room since Ophelia had died, and had only come back when he’d married her, after replacing all the furniture. She thought about how hard it must be for him to sleep in this room with her now. It made her wonder what else he was tolerating only for her sake.

Feeling adrift, rudderless, Jemma went downstairs to the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of wine, then sat on a stool at the island and stared at it.

She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there in silence, still except for the occasional sip of her wine, when movement behind her caught her attention. For a second she was afraid it might be Fitz, but when she looked over her shoulder she found it was only Alistair, coming down the stairs into the kitchen.

“You’re home early,” he said.

Jemma didn’t reply. She wasn’t in the mood to. Her emotions were already frayed and dangling by a thread as it was; she didn’t need her father-in-law to come in and spout Ophelia’s virtues like he always found a way to. Not right now. So she pressed her lips down into a line and turned back to stare at her wine.

Behind her, she heard the sound of the fridge door opening and closing, and then Alistair walked around the side of the island to look at her, beer in hand. “You look upset,” he observed, just as mildly as he’d observed their early return.

Well. Perhaps she did have one thing or two to say. “You told me to pick something green on purpose, didn’t you?” she asked dully. When Alistair didn’t reply, simply staring at her instead, she added, “You knew it would make Fitz angry. Just like you knew bringing him drinks would make him angry. Well, are you happy? He’s furious with me.”

A strange gleam came over Alistair’s eyes, and he took a step forward. “I’m only trying to get you to realize what everyone else already knows,” he said calmly. “You’re not wanted or needed here. Fitz is still in love with Ophelia. He’s not over her.”

His words stabbed Jemma like knives, cutting her deep to her core, but oddly, it felt as though she already knew it was coming. She knew Alistair was telling the truth. She’d been blind to it for so long, or just refused to see it, but she couldn’t avoid it any longer. Not when it was so plain to see now. Fitz was still deeply in love with Ophelia, and she could never hope to take her place.

Despite knowing that, it was still difficult to acknowledge. “I know,” she murmured, forcing the words past the lump that had lodged inside her throat. Just those two words felt like she was tearing her own heart out with her hands and laying it out on the counter, bleeding, still beating. It hurt more than anything had ever hurt in her life.

Alistair merely blinked at her. “So why are you still here?”

Jemma swallowed. It felt like she was being buried by the weight of her pain. When she looked up at him, unshed tears rimmed her lashes. “Because I love him,” she said simply.

“But he doesn’t love you,” Alistair replied, as though he were discussing the weather and not the failure of her marriage. “Not truly. You’re nothing more than a rebound. Eventually, he’s going to realize that and lose interest in you.” He paused, and Jemma looked back down at the countertop. “You should leave before he does.”

She saw his feet move past her, followed by the sound of footsteps going up the stairs. Then silence.

Jemma stared into her wine glass again for a long time, her thoughts and emotions tumbling over and over inside her chest. She _was_ a rebound. Kenneth was right. She could acknowledge that now. Fitz loved her, but not enough. She would never be enough. She would always come second to Ophelia, who was perfect and beautiful and meant everything to everyone. She would never be enough to truly win Fitz’s heart.

Maybe Alistair was right, too. She shouldn’t stay. She couldn’t spend another minute inside this house, and she couldn’t face Fitz. Not after tonight. It hurt too much.

She went back upstairs to the bedroom, lingering for a second on the landing. She couldn’t hear any noise coming from upstairs aside from the soft drone of Alistair’s telly, and couldn’t fathom what Fitz was doing alone in his office, but she didn’t want to know. She couldn’t look at him right now, so raw and fragile and close to breaking. She just needed to get away. So she went to the bedroom closet to pull out some trainers and a light jacket, staying long enough to put them on and grab her bag and phone. Then she went back downstairs as if in a trance and quietly slipped out the front door without looking back.

Outside on the pavement, Jemma automatically walked in the direction of the Gloucester Road Tube station, pulling out her phone to send a text to Daisy.

 _[Jemma]: Can I come over?  
_ _[Jemma]: And maybe stay the night?_

She was halfway down the mews between her street and Gloucester Road before she got a response. 

_[Daisy]: of course  
_ _[Daisy]: what’s wrong is everything ok?_

Jemma looked down at her phone and Daisy’s texts, so small and innocent, and felt the pain of her broken heart squeezing her chest like a vise. It was too much. She couldn’t possibly explain it all over text.

_[Jemma]: I’ll tell you when I get there_

Daisy’s reply was almost instantaneous.

_[Daisy]: ok. be safe_

Jemma spent the rest of the walk to the Tube station and the ensuing train ride in a sort of daze, playing the events of the night over and over in her mind and trying not to cry. Again and again she saw the change come over Fitz’s face as he saw her dress, saw the way he turned away from her in pain and begged her to change, saw the way he ignored her and did his best to distance himself from her all night. She saw all the times he’d pushed her away when she’d tried to help him with his work stress, every time he’d lied to her about what he was doing. She saw all the times he shut down in grief over Ophelia, and all the times she’d been woefully inadequate to do anything about it.

What hurt the most was thinking of New York. That beautiful, lovely, magical week they’d spent falling in love, where she’d known just from the way his face lit up every time he looked at her that she made him happy. She could still remember the heady rush of it, what it felt like to think she’d found the one person tailor-made for her, the person she’d been waiting her entire life for. And he had been so open, so eager to bring her into his life, to share it with her. She’d been able to look at Fitz and see the rest of her life spinning out before her, loved and happy and fulfilled.

But it wasn’t enough. She didn’t know what had happened to the man she’d met in New York. She’d lost him along the way, somewhere between the hushed phone conversations locked in his office and the blank, tight faces he made whenever Ophelia was mentioned. And she couldn’t get him back. She knew that now. The gulf was just too deep.

By the time she made it to Daisy’s flat in Brixton, she was barely holding herself together. As soon as Daisy buzzed her inside she burst into tears, unable to hold her emotions back anymore.

“Whoa, Jemma, Jemma,” Daisy said, taking her by the shoulders and pulling her into the lounge. “What’s going on? Tell me, you’ve got me worried sick.”

“It’s too much,” she cried, tears spilling hot and fast down her cheeks. “I just can’t do it anymore, I can’t—” She looked up and saw Daniel standing hesitantly by the sofa, watching them with concern. Her face twisted in dismay. “Oh no. Oh, no, no. I’ve ruined a nice night for you, I’m so sorry—”

“No, shh, don’t worry about that, you’re fine,” Daisy said, pulling Jemma into an awkward hug, at the same time Daniel’s eyebrows went up in alarm and he held up his hands, saying _no_. “We’re here for you. Now talk to us.” She led Jemma around to the sofa and gently sat her down, taking a seat next to her. “What’s wrong? Did something happen with Fitz?”

“It’s everything,” Jemma cried miserably. “He doesn’t love me.”

Daisy’s eyebrows went up into her hairline.

“I mean, he does, but it’s not enough,” Jemma amended, sniffling. “ _I’m_ not enough. He’s still in love with Ophelia and he always will be. I can’t take people comparing us anymore. She’s always going to be better, prettier, smarter, more well-liked. Everyone is always telling me how much Fitz loved her and misses her and it’s—it’s too much! I can’t bear it.”

Daniel appeared at Daisy’s side, handing off a box of tissues to her, who held it out to Jemma. She took it, but didn’t pull a tissue out. “Have you talked to him about this?” Daisy asked gently.

“I can’t,” Jemma cried. “He won’t look at me, will barely even speak to me. I really upset him because this silly dress I bought for the gala we went to tonight was the wrong color—it made him think of Ophelia and I didn’t _know_ but he got so upset he couldn’t stand the sight of me and when we got home he went straight to his office and I haven’t seen him since.” Her face crumpled as even more tears streamed down her cheeks. “I keep trying but I just can’t get it right. Nothing I do is good enough. I’m never going to be better than—”

In her lap, her phone buzzed inside her bag. Jemma stopped and looked down at it, just in time for it to buzz again. Her stomach sank through the floor. Fearing the worst, she pulled her phone from the front pocket and thumbed the lockscreen. She looked at her notifications long enough to see that she had texts from Fitz before she looked away, her face twisting in despair.

“Who is it?” Daisy asked. “Is it Fitz?” When Jemma nodded, she gently took her phone from her and thumbed the screen. “Where are you?” she read out loud, looking down at the screen. “I can’t find you.” She paused for a beat before looking back up. “Do you want me to answer for you?”

It was very tempting, letting Daisy handle everything for her, going to the room that used to be hers and curling up on the bed and blotting the rest of the universe out. But she knew she couldn’t. She had to face this, or it would get worse. Wiping the tears from her cheeks, Jemma held her hand out for her phone. “I’ll do it,” she said quietly.

Daisy passed the phone over, and Jemma tapped in her passcode and opened her messaging app. There were Fitz’s texts, deceptively innocuous but full of so much pain for her. Now he cared where she was?

Swallowing down her pain, she tapped out a reply.

_[Jemma]: I’ve gone to Daisy’s for the night_

Fitz’s reply came very quickly, and she could almost hear the confusion in his words. She wanted to laugh, if she could. How could he be confused over this?

_[Fitz]: what? why?_

Jemma spent a long moment or two deliberating over her answer, choosing her words carefully, because she knew they could possibly have an irreparable impact on their relationship. But she had to say it, because she couldn’t run from the truth anymore and neither could he. Still, the words were incredibly painful to type out and it took her several tries, many tears, and more than one backspace because her shaking fingers had hit the wrong letter.

_[Jemma]: I think we need to spend some time apart to gain a little clarity on things_

Almost immediately, her phone started ringing.

Jemma looked up at Daisy beseechingly, torn. She didn’t know if she could handle physically speaking to Fitz right now. But Daisy just nodded and gave her a painful little smile clearly meant to encourage her, gesturing to her phone. Swallowing, Jemma swiped over her screen to take the call and put the phone up to her ear. “H-hello?”

“Jemma?” Fitz sounded anxious. In front of her, Daisy stood and pressed a gentle hand to her shoulder before taking Daniel and leaving the room. “Is this about the dress?” Fitz asked in a rush. “Because I know I was a _massive_ arse and I didn’t know how to apologize, I am _so_ , so sorry—”

“It’s not,” Jemma cut in, fresh tears streaming down her face. “I mean—it _is_ , it—it just allowed me to finally see everything I wasn’t allowing myself to see.”

“What?” Now Fitz sounded panicked. “What are you talking about?”

Jemma’s head bowed, her heart clenching painfully in her chest. If she said it all to Fitz, it was real, it was alive, it was undeniable. Everything she feared would become true and she would have to listen to him say it was true. She didn’t think she could bear it, but maybe it was for the best. No more lies. Once it was out, she could find a way to move on somehow.

“You’re still in love with Ophelia,” she said, her voice wobbling with emotion and her chest hitching with uneven breaths. “You’re not over her, and I’m—I’m just not enough for you right now. I don’t know if I’ll ever be.”

There was a full moment of silence on the other end of the line. Then, still sounding panicked, Fitz said, “Where are you getting this?”

“Everywhere,” Jemma sobbed. How could he not know? “Everywhere I go, people tell me how wonderful Ophelia was and how much you love and miss her, and you can’t stand any mention of her, you couldn’t even look at me tonight, and your father said—”

“Wait, my father?” Fitz snapped. “What did he say to you?”

Jemma wiped at her tear-stained cheeks in vain. “Nothing I don’t already know,” she mumbled miserably.

“Tell me,” Fitz demanded.

Jemma sighed, closing her eyes. It was something else she didn’t want made manifest, didn’t want Fitz repeating back to her and confirming to be true. But she had no other choice now. “He said I’m not enough,” she told him through another wave of tears, feeling like she was shrinking and crumbling beneath the weight of her broken heart. “You don’t love me. I’m just a rebound.”

There was more silence on Fitz’s end of the line. Then there was a rustling sound, followed by a crash and Fitz’s distant voice yelling “ _Fuck_!” at the top of his lungs. Jemma clung to her phone, unsure of what was happening and what would come next. A moment later there was another rustling sound followed by Fitz’s voice, clear and close again, but deadly calm. “I am going to kill my father,” he announced.

Unsure what to make of that statement, even a little afraid, Jemma forced herself to swallow. “It—It’s alright,” she said, her voice thin and wobbly. “I understand—”

“No, you don’t,” Fitz said, and she thought that she had never heard him sound more serious in her life. “Jemma, I need you to listen to me. Really listen to me. I don’t love Ophelia.”

Jemma blinked. That didn’t make any sense. “What?” she whispered.

“I _never_ loved Ophelia,” Fitz said. “I _hated_ her.”


	16. Chapter 16

_I never loved Ophelia. I hated her._

Jemma couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It made no sense. What about all of the times Fitz had gone quiet and distressed when Ophelia was mentioned, what about his reaction to her dress? What was that, if not grief? How could he hate Ophelia?

Feeling hopelessly lost, like her world had just tilted sharply on its axis, Jemma struggled for a response. “What do you mean… I d-don’t understand.”

“I was never in love with Ophelia,” Fitz said, still sounding as serious as could be. “Well—you could probably say I was a bit enamored of her when we first met, but—Jemma, sweetheart, it’s only ever been you for me. Please, _please_ come home or let me come see you, and I’ll explain everything. I know I have been a _monumental_ arse but I love you and I don’t want—” His voice cracked with emotion, stopping him. “I don’t want you to feel like it has to come to a separation.”

Jemma’s face crumpled as a fresh wave of tears and heartbreak hit her. Fitz’s tone was so upset, but even if she had no idea what his true feelings were anymore, she still felt lost and adrift. Him begging her to come home struck a raw nerve inside her. It was exactly what her shredded and torn heart wanted to hear, but she couldn’t trust going home yet. Not with Alistair still in the house. It didn’t feel safe.

Still, no matter how broken and bruised she was, she wanted Fitz. She always would.

“You… you can come here,” she finally mumbled through her tears.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Fitz breathed, sounding relieved. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. I love you.”

He said it like it was the last time he would ever be able to do so, and it broke Jemma’s heart all over again. “I love you, too,” she managed, and ended the call. Then she broke down again, dropping her phone onto her bag in her lap and covering her face with her hands, trying in vain to muffle her cries.

A moment later, she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Jemma?” Daisy asked quietly. “How did it go? That bad?”

Jemma hiccupped, trying to get a hold on herself. “Fitz is coming here,” she said, wiping uselessly at her cheeks. Daisy reached to pull a tissue from the abandoned box next to Jemma and handed it to her. “I’m so sorry. I’ve ruined your night. We’ll leave when he gets here. I just didn’t want to go straight home because—because his father is still there—and I really don’t—I don’t—”

“Shh,” Daisy soothed, rubbing her shoulder. “You don’t have to explain yourself. Take your time.” Jemma glanced up at her to find that she was looking at Daniel, who was hovering at the edge of the sofa, a silent sentinel. “Can you go make some tea?” Daisy asked. “I think I still have some in the cabinet next to the stove.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, and turned to go across the room to the kitchen.

Daisy sat down next to Jemma. “Tell me what he said.” She paused and made a face. “I mean, if you want to.”

Jemma shook her head, wiping at her wet cheeks again. “He—he said he doesn’t love Ophelia.”

“Well, that’s good, right?” Daisy said, her tone upbeat. “I told you he didn’t.”

“No, no.” Jemma shook her head a second time. “He said he _never_ loved Ophelia.”

That brought Daisy up short. Her friend leaned back slightly, blinking, before saying, “What?” At the stove, even Daniel looked over his shoulder at them with interest.

“I don’t understand it,” Jemma said with a sniffle. “But he said he’d explain everything when he got here.” She looked up at Daisy. “He said he _hated_ her.”

Daisy’s eyebrows rose even higher, if it were possible. “That is _crazy_. They were like science’s golden couple, everyone loved them, and you’re telling me he couldn’t stand her?” Jemma gave her a wan, pained smile. “That is… a _lot_.”

“I know.” Jemma turned her gaze back to her lap. “I don’t even begin to know how to feel about it.”

Daisy stayed with her on the sofa, rubbing her back and handing her tissues while steering the conversation to lighter, uncomplicated topics in a clear effort to get Jemma’s mood up. Daniel brought her a mug of tea and while it wasn’t doctored just perfectly the way Fitz knew, it was still very good. Just holding the warm mug in her hands and letting the steam drift into her face went a long way toward easing her tension. Watching Daniel sit on the other side of Daisy, she envied them their easy and loose comfort with each other. When was the last time she hadn’t second-guessed Fitz’s motives or her own self-esteem? She couldn’t remember.

When the door buzzer finally rang, Jemma went stiff again, anticipating the very fraught conversation that was doubtlessly about to take place. Setting her half-empty mug of tea down on the coffee table in front of her, she shifted to look over the back of the sofa as Daisy went to go answer the door, Daniel trailing behind her. She heard the sound of the door opening and closing, murmured voices, and then Daisy came back into the lounge, followed by Daniel and an extremely nervous-looking Fitz. He’d changed into jeans and a plain button-down beneath a light jacket, and when their eyes met a myriad of emotions flashed across his face, but the one that stuck out the most to Jemma was distress.

She stood from the sofa and ducked her head, aware she was presenting quite a sight: puffy, red eyes, blotchy cheeks, and messy ponytail to go with her yoga pants and old jumper. He’d never seen her so low. But if he couldn’t love her like this, could he love her at all?

They all stood in silence for a terrible, awkward moment: Jemma with her head bowed, Fitz with his hands twisted together in front of him, and Daisy watching them both while Daniel stood looking ready to chuck Fitz out on his arse if he so much as made one wrong move or spoke one wrong word.

Finally, Daisy reached up to tug on Daniel’s sleeve. “We’ll give you guys some privacy,” she said quietly, and pulled Daniel out of the lounge after her, leaving Jemma and Fitz alone.

Jemma peeked up at Fitz from beneath her lashes. He was watching her, his emotions warring across his face as he twisted one thumb into the opposite palm. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what she _could_ say; he was the one who had pledged to explain everything, after all. Finally, he took a small step toward her.

“Jemma…” he said, his voice so uncertain. “Can I… can I hold you?”

Her face fell under a new onslaught of tears, and she ducked her head again to try and hide them. The fact that he felt he needed to ask permission to hold her hurt deeply, but she really only had herself to blame. She was the one who’d asked for time apart. But she wanted nothing more than to be held by him, so she was moving forward even before she started nodding, holding out her arms. 

She thought she saw relief fall heavy over his face but then she’d crashed against him, winding her arms around his middle while his own came tight around her, holding her impossibly close. She buried her face in his chest, inhaling his familiar scent of leather and spice, and choked on a sob. This was home. She didn’t want to lose it.

“Shh,” Fitz whispered, stroking one hand up and down her back, and pressed a kiss to her hairline. He did it over and over until the worst of her sobs had subsided, and then he simply held her tight, resting his cheek on her hair. Jemma could feel him trembling, and wondered if he was just as deeply rattled as she was, if he was close to losing his own composure.

They stayed that way in silence for a few long moments until Fitz spoke again.

“Jemma… Jemma,” he said quietly, “why did you never tell me you felt so horrible?”

She breathed out a sad, bitter laugh. “How could I? Don’t you know how it would sound? ‘Fitz, I’m jealous of your dead first wife.’ And—” She squeezed her arms around him. “You always get so upset whenever she’s mentioned or you’re reminded of her. I didn’t want to cause you any more pain or grief over what felt like silly resentment.”

Fitz sighed, tightening his arms around her in return, and tilted his head back, resting his chin briefly on top of her head. “I’m sorry. I’m _so_ sorry, Jemma. It’s not like that at all. It’s…” He sighed again, then dropped a kiss into her hair. “I get upset because I don’t want to be reminded of her. At all. I just—I want to move past it and get on with my life, but everyone wants to keep talking about her, and I can’t just ask them to quit, can I?” Jemma felt his posture sag slightly. “I guess it worked, because people thought I was grieving and that shut them up about her most of the time, but… I should have told you at least the truth. So you never would have thought I didn’t love you. Jemma, love, I am _so_ sorry.”

He redoubled his embrace, and Jemma leaned into him, soaking up as much of him as she could. He sounded completely sincere, and she believed him—at least, she thought she did—but she was still hopelessly confused. “Fitz,” she said, turning her cheek against his chest and curling her fingers into the fabric of his jacket, “I don’t understand, though. You said you didn’t love her?” She felt him nod. “Then why did you marry her?” 

Fitz took in a deep breath and released it, then stroked a hand over her hair. “That’s… a bit of a story,” he said. He let go of her to take a step back and look her in the eyes. “Will you come sit down with me?”

Jemma swallowed and nodded, brushing a stray bit of hair out of her face.

Fitz gave her a weak smile and took her hand, pulling her around the sofa. There he sat down, gently encouraging her to sit close to him. She did, her knees crowding against his, and her heart lurched when he reached out to briefly palm her cheek, smiling at her again like he had a thousand apologies fighting to get out of his chest. His thumb brushed over her skin once before his hand fell away, taking her own hands up and pulling them into his lap. He watched them for a minute, running his thumbs over her knuckles, before speaking.

“So, you know that I went through school very quickly,” he said. “As a result I didn’t… well, I’ve always been awkward with people. It was worse when I was younger, especially with women. Despite anything you might think, I’m not exactly a rich playboy.” He huffed out a short laugh, his eyes darting up to hers for a second. 

“When I first became successful, women were suddenly all over me when they’d never given me a second glance before. But all they wanted was my money. I could tell. Ophelia… she was the first one to show interest in my work. And she was very charming.” Fitz smiled, but it looked more like a grimace. “I admit it went to my head a bit. Before I knew it, we were dating, and then she’d proposed. Yeah, she proposed.” He glanced up at Jemma again. “She knew exactly what she wanted.”

Then he seemed to deflate a little. “Eventually I realized she was after the same thing everyone else was: my money, my name, all the clout and opportunities that came with it. But by then it was too late, we’d merged our companies, and, well, I told you I’m awkward… I didn’t see myself ever being able to do better.”

Jemma’s heart clenched. He’d settled for someone who didn’t love him? “Oh, _Fitz_ ,” she murmured.

He shrugged slightly. “We got on alright. I thought we could have an okay marriage—sort of like a business deal, you know?” It hurt Jemma to hear him talk about marriage like that, and she squeezed her fingers around his. He squeezed back. “But after we got married, she let her true self show.”

Jemma frowned. “What do you mean?”

“She was a bloody sociopath,” Fitz replied, pressing his lips down into a line. “Every bit of empathy or gentleness or caring she ever showed was fake. She had no heart. None. All she cared about was herself and her own ambition. She started pushing for a bigger stake in my company, more control to do her own projects, and when I wouldn’t budge, she froze me out. She went completely cold. She treated me like her own personal bank account. Took all these lavish trips to god knows where and bought herself whatever she wanted.” He scratched at his eyebrow, frowning. “She probably had affairs, too, but she never told me what she did on her holidays. We kept up a united front to the public because Ophelia was nothing if not a very smart businesswoman and knew her lifestyle and goals depended on us looking like the golden couple everyone thought we were. We did all of those events because people expected us to. I became a very good actor. But behind closed doors… it was bad. Really bad. We slept in separate rooms, rarely spoke or interacted, and when we did, we fought. I was miserable.”

Jemma took a minute to absorb all of this, turning it over in her mind. It was hard to fathom. Beautiful, perfect, revered Ophelia Sarkissian was not who everyone thought she was, and was in fact the opposite—a cold, scheming opportunist who’d put on a pretty face while taking advantage of Fitz to suit her own ends. It broke her heart in a completely different way. Fitz might have a bit of a prickly exterior, but he had a generous and giving heart, and loved deeply. The thought of him suffering in a loveless marriage like that was almost enough to make her forget her own pain.

“But… I know you said you settled,” Jemma said, disliking the taste of the words in her mouth, “but if you were so unhappy, why didn’t you just divorce her?”

Fitz’s head bowed, a look of shame passing over his face. “She threatened to clean me out if I tried divorcing her. Said she’d go to the police and the press claiming all manner of horrible abuse and take everything from me in the resulting trial.” He looked up again, his eyes begging Jemma to understand. “And I believed her. It would have been her word against mine. As well-liked as she was, I had no doubt she could do it.”

“Fitz,” Jemma whispered, at a complete loss. “I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged again, looking back down and worrying at her hands with his. “It’s over with now.”

“Still,” she insisted, shifting closer to him and turning their hands so she was holding his instead, “you were married to her for how long—five years? That’s too long to live like that. Even one day is too long.”

Fitz just tilted his head to one side and smiled sadly. “You know, I was _relieved_ when she died.” He shook his head. “Isn’t that a horrible thing to feel? But I was. I felt like I was free. Except I couldn’t act like it or people would question me, so I had to act like I was grieving… that’s why I stopped going out. I was sick of pretending. It was just easier to stay in. But then the first time I finally _did_ go out—I met _you_.”

He reached up to palm her cheek again, and his expression was so tender and full of love, his smile so tremulous, that Jemma nearly broke down again. He hadn’t looked at her with such open emotion in what felt like ages. 

“I felt like I’d found the person I’d been waiting my whole life for,” he told her. “That you were even interested in return—I couldn’t believe it. And when you agreed to marry me…” He bit his lip, shaking his head, like it still amazed him. Then his face darkened again. “But it’s like Ophelia’s still trying to ruin my life even in death. You have all this doubt now, it’s torn us apart—”

“No,” Jemma blurted, sitting up straighter and grabbing his hands tight as fresh tears spilled over. “She hasn’t ruined us. Not yet. I—I was so sure you couldn’t love me the way you loved her, but—”

“No, no, never,” Fitz cut in fervently, pulling his hands from hers so he could frame her face with them and pull her forward, resting his forehead on hers. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.”

“When you told me to change my dress—”

He made an aggrieved noise. “I know. It was unforgivable, I know, but I’m still sorry.” He pressed a fast kiss to her forehead before replacing his own there. “It’s just, Ophelia always wore green to events. Always. It reminded me too much of her and I had a panic attack. It doesn’t excuse me for hurting you, though. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how to apologize without explaining everything and I heard you crying in the closet and knew I’d cocked it all up. I was sure you were rightfully pissed at me. And then we had the gala and I didn’t know what to do. I called my mum for advice when we got home, but when I hung up with her, you were gone.”

“I thought you couldn’t stand the sight of me anymore,” Jemma said wetly, turning her face into one of his palms, seeking out his touch. “And when your father said you didn’t love me… actually, none of what he said makes sense anymore.”

Fitz pulled back enough to look at her. “What did he say?”

“Lots of things,” she said. “Always when you weren’t around. Usually he would just talk about Ophelia, how wonderful she was—”

“He was obsessed with her,” Fitz scoffed.

“And how much you loved her,” Jemma added. Fitz’s head shot up, his eyes wide. She watched him for a moment, gauging his reaction, then nodded. “About how her death changed you, how you hadn’t set foot in our bedroom until you married me, how you replaced all the furniture… how Ophelia used to help you with all of your problems by bringing you a drink and talking you through it—”

“Is _that_ why you kept bringing me whisky?” he asked, his face twisting in surprise. Jemma nodded, embarrassed, and Fitz shook his head. “Well, that part is a bald-faced lie, but the rest of it is true. He just—he—” He swore softly. “He twisted it to fit his little narrative and made you think I didn’t love you.”

Jemma wiped at her wet cheeks. “But why…?”

Fitz sighed, dropping his hands to his lap. “My father, in addition to being an alcoholic, is a compulsive liar. And yeah, he was obsessed with Ophelia. He said marrying her was the smartest thing I ever did.” He laughed humorlessly. “Imagine that: graduated top of my class from MIT at sixteen and started a wildly successful business, and my one smart move was marrying a sadistic witch? Can’t impress everyone, I guess.” He shrugged lamely, then looked at her and gave her a bracing smile. “But don’t worry about him anymore. I kicked him out.”

Jemma’s jaw dropped, her tears forgotten. “What?”

Fitz’s eyebrows went up. “Why are you surprised? He lied to you, hurt you, deliberately sabotaged our marriage! I never want to see him again.”

“Right,” she murmured, absorbing this new information as well. No more Alistair? No more wondering if he was going to creep up behind her in the kitchen and startle her with more rhapsodizing about Ophelia? It sounded like paradise.

Then she took a moment to wipe the rest of the tears from her face and push the hair that had escaped from her ponytail back from her face. Fitz watched her in silence, worrying his hands in his lap.

“Are… are we okay?” he asked after another minute, his voice uncertain. She looked up at him, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “Do you still feel like you need some time apart?”

He looked afraid, like she held his very life in her hands, and she couldn’t stand it. “No,” she said, shaking her head, and she could _see_ the tension leech from Fitz’s body, but she held up a finger. “But I have one more question.”

He froze, looking wary. “Yeah?”

Jemma looked him straight in the eye. “What have you been hiding in your office?”

Fitz shrank slightly, then looked around as if to make sure Daisy or Daniel wasn’t eavesdropping on them. “We probably shouldn’t talk about this here,” he said, lowering his voice, “but I don’t want to hide anything else from you, not anymore, so…” He took in a deep breath. “Right after you and I were married, I discovered that Ophelia had been embezzling money from the company into her own shell business to fund some really dodgy personal research and development. It all came up when we started to formally restructure the cybernetics division, which involved shutting down her legitimate company and liquidating all of the assets. Holden Radcliffe—you remember him, yeah?—he found some suspect paperwork and a large amount of money in a secondary bank account Ophelia had opened. We’ve been working together to get it all quietly sorted ever since.”

Jemma had listened to his explanation with widening eyes and mounting horror. So it _had_ been stealing, but also so, so much worse. This was terrible. The resentment she’d felt towards Ophelia before today had bloomed into a seething, if impotent, rage—she’d taken so much from Fitz and hurt him in spades, but there was nothing Jemma could do to her in retribution now. “How much did she steal?” she asked, almost afraid to know the answer.

“Just enough to stay under the radar and go unnoticed,” Fitz said. “But it built up over time.” He sighed. “Millions, we think.”

Jemma sucked in a sharp breath as all of the possible implications hit her, and she shook her head. “So—why keep it quiet? Why not go public with the investigation and ruin her name like she deserves? You’d never have to pretend to like her again!”

Fitz glanced toward the door to the hallway again before leaning in close. “It’s the nature of the research she was conducting,” he said quietly. “It is very ethically and morally grey and if word got out about it, it could really damage the reputation of the company. I _really_ don’t want that. I’ll tell you more about it if you like, but it would be best to do it when we’re alone.”

Jemma nodded, letting out a breath, and rubbed her eyes. She was exhausted. The gala felt like years ago now, and so much had happened between them in the time since. It was a lot to process. But all she wanted now was to curl up next to Fitz in their bed, his arms around her, and worry about piecing everything back together in the morning.

“Let’s go home,” she said. “I’m tired.”

“Yeah?” Fitz’s face came alight with hope. “I mean—yeah. Of course. We’ve imposed on Daisy enough by now. Come on.” He stood and stretched with a quiet groan, then held out a hand out to her. Jemma took it, and after he pulled her up, he rubbed her arm and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead. Then he led her out of the lounge, down the hall to Daisy’s room.

Jemma lightly knocked on the closed door. A moment later, Daisy opened it, looking relieved to see them. Daniel hovered a few steps behind her.

“We’re going to go home,” Jemma told them, smiling apologetically. “We’ve taken up enough of your time already. It’s getting late.”

Daisy looked between them—Jemma with her red, sore eyes and Fitz with his pale face and his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets—and raised her eyebrows slightly in a question. “Are you guys okay?” she asked. “Jemma, you’re more than free to stay here if you need to.”

“Yeah, you’re very welcome here,” Daniel said, still looking ready to toss Fitz out at the barest signal from Jemma.

Her smile turned a little softer, and she glanced briefly up at Fitz before turning back to Daisy. “We’re fine,” she said. “Or at least, we will be. Nothing a good night’s rest and some discussion can’t fix.”

Daisy didn’t look quite convinced, and Jemma didn’t blame her—after the fears she had confessed to her friend earlier, suddenly coming back from the brink and being fine and secure with Fitz seemed like a tall order. She would have to fill her in on the salient details later. 

“I’ll talk to you later, yeah?” she said. “Tomorrow?” Daisy nodded, and together they all turned to walk to the front door. “Thank you again for letting me come over,” Jemma said. “I really appreciate it.”

“Any time,” Daisy replied. “Take care, you two.”

Outside, Fitz and Jemma walked close side by side in silence through the night air for a moment before Jemma sighed. “I’m not really looking forward to riding the Tube looking like this,” she said, gesturing to her face, trying to bring a little levity to their situation. “I’m a mess.”

“Oh. You won’t have to worry about that—I drove.” Fitz smiled, looking relieved to be able to do something good for her. “I know it wasn’t any faster than the Tube, but I, um—I needed the space to think. I’m parked just ahead up here.”  
  
He pointed, and she saw his BMW parked on the curb at the end of the long garden path that lay between Daisy’s flat row and the busy high street. She sagged a little, grateful not to have to show her face in public, even if it was late at night and not likely to be busy. It also had the bonus of meaning she wouldn’t have to share Fitz.

He opened the passenger door for her, a bit of chivalry which she appreciated, and while they didn’t talk much during this drive, either, it was different. The air between them was far less tense, for one. Fitz kept glancing over at her, as if checking to make sure she was still there. On the occasions when he caught her eye, he gave her a tentative but warm smile. And sometimes, when he didn’t need both hands to steer, he would reach over and place his hand on her knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. It warmed Jemma’s heart through, chasing out the chill that had lain there for weeks and leaving her feeling much lighter.

At home the house was quiet, though Jemma looked around like she half-expected Alistair to jump out at her from around a corner. He never did, and Fitz’s steady hand at the small of her back kept her putting one foot in front of the other until they were both safely ensconced in their bedroom. There, Jemma sighed with relief as she changed into her pajamas and washed her face.

She was already curled up in bed when Fitz finished in the bathroom. She smiled at him as he came out and switched off the lights, making room for him to come join her beneath the sheets. He opened his arms to her, and she immediately crowded in against him, taking her spot with her head pillowed on his shoulder and her arm over his waist. He wrapped his arms tight around her, holding her close, and pressed his lips to her hairline as she let out a heavy sigh. “I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

They laid together in silence in the dark for several long minutes, just drinking each other in. Jemma closed her eyes and focused on all the familiar things that made up Fitz: his scent, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the gentle beat of his heart. This really was her home. Beside him, in his arms. Her heart ached knowing she had almost lost it through her own doubt and insecurity.

“Thank you for coming home with me,” Fitz said quietly, at length. “I would have been miserable here without you. Even if I deserved it.”

Jemma opened her eyes. “I didn’t want to leave,” she whispered. “I just thought things would be better if I did.”

“Never,” Fitz replied immediately, tightening his hold on her. “Never.”

His sincerity helped to ease the pain that still lingered in her heart, burning away the last of the doubt that had plagued her for so long. Fitz loved her. She never should have doubted that. She’d just let Ophelia, and the world, sink their claws into her and push them apart.

“You make everything better,” Fitz continued, stroking his hand slowly up and down her arm. “I promise I’ll do my best to do better by you. No more secrets or pretending.”

“Thank you,” Jemma whispered, and snuggled closer to him.

He huffed quietly. “I’m sorry it’s been such a burden, being married to me.”

Jemma started slightly. “Fitz, no, I never said that—”

“I meant all the publicity,” he quickly said, giving her a comforting squeeze. “All of the comparison.” She relaxed against him, and he pressed another kiss to her forehead. “I never wanted any of that for you. I… I miss New York. Where it was just you and me and we didn’t have to worry about anything else.”

It made Jemma’s heart beat sharp against her ribs, hearing him say that. _He’d missed it too_. All the times she’d wished to go back and recapture that easy happiness, and he’d been thinking the same thing. “I miss it, too,” she murmured, and turned her face to kiss the skin of his neck closest to her.

“Maybe we should take a holiday sometime soon,” Fitz mused, resuming the light strokes of his hand over her arm. “Go on that honeymoon I promised you. Somewhere remote, where no one can find us.”

“Somewhere Ophelia’s never been. Not like the cottage,” Jemma said with a small smile.

“Or we _could_ do the cottage again sometime,” Fitz suggested, “and I could make love to you on every surface inside of it until we forget she was ever there.”

Jemma giggled despite herself, swatting her hand gently against Fitz’s side, and he laughed too. It felt strange to laugh after the heaviness of the day, but it felt good, too. It made Jemma feel like they really could get back to themselves and be okay.

“We could,” she whispered with a smile, and pressed her forehead into Fitz’s neck. “We could absolutely do that.”


	17. Chapter 17

Jemma was awoken the next morning by the feeling of soft kisses being planted across the bare skin of her shoulder. She blinked her eyes open to see bright sunlight slanting through the curtains over the windows, and stretched slightly before relaxing into the warmth that was Fitz curled around her back.

“Morning,” she murmured, still half-asleep.

“Morning,” she heard him reply, his voice scratchy, and he nuzzled at the strap of her camisole before pressing another kiss to her skin. “How did you sleep?”

Jemma let out a slow yawn. “Just fine,” she said. “Really well.”

“Good.” Fitz was working his way back toward her neck, and his lips were ticklish just as much as they were pleasurable. “Anything you want to do today?”

Jemma smiled as she watched the shadows from the leaves on the tree outside the window paint shapes on the curtains. “I thought I might spend the day with my husband.”

The kisses paused briefly before resuming again. “That sounds brilliant,” he said, his voice muffled by her skin. “I’m sure he’d love that.”

Suddenly needing to see him, Jemma rolled so she was on her back pressed up against him. Fitz easily moved to accommodate her, propping himself up on one arm above her. “Hi,” she said simply, smiling up at him.

“Hi,” he replied, smiling in return, and gently brushed some hair away from her face. Jemma’s heart pulsed with love at how handsome he looked, all rumpled and hair askew from sleep, looking down at her with such open affection. It was basic and artless but it was the closest she’d felt to him in some time and she was ready to tell him so when he spoke again.

“I’m really sorry,” he said, still tracing his fingers through her hair. His face had gone somber. “About everything. It never should have gone that far.”

Jemma’s stomach twisted sadly. “Oh, Fitz… you don’t have to keep apologizing. It… it was just horrible miscommunication. I should have talked to you.”

“I feel like I should,” Fitz insisted. “Apologize. I never realized you were upset. I was too caught up in everything going on at work. Just the thought of you thinking I don’t love you makes me sick to my stomach.”

“But I know better now,” Jemma told him softly, placing a hand on his chest, over his heart. “And I’ll never doubt you again.”

A cautious hope lit up Fitz’s eyes. “Yeah?”

Jemma nodded, smiling again. “Yeah.” That wasn’t to say that she hadn’t been hurt terribly. She’d been fully prepared to accept the breakdown of her marriage. But Fitz’s explanation had lifted the veil and shown her that she’d just misinterpreted everything, through no real fault of her own. She still trusted him, and she felt secure in his love again. But a little demonstration wouldn’t do any harm. To that end, she lifted her hand to the back of his neck and tugged him down for a kiss.

It was sweet and soft, full of love. It spun out for an extended moment before Fitz pressed in for another, more purposeful, kiss, and she felt a spark light low in her belly.

He kept at it, kissing her slowly and with intent, steadily building up heat between them. Jemma basked in it, struggling to remember the last time he had paid her such care and attention. The fact that he was doing so now only added strength to the weight of his apology; he really did want to make it up to her. And she was more than happy to let him.

Jemma sighed out a soft moan when Fitz slanted her mouth open with his, the velvet stroke of his tongue over hers lighting up her senses and making her body buzz with need. The sound only inflamed Fitz; he doubled down, pressing himself closer and kissing her with more passion, taking the heat between them and striking a match to it.

Wanting to feel him, needing him even closer, Jemma reached down to fumble for the hem of Fitz’s cotton tee and pull it up. He stopped kissing her only long enough to help her pull it off and discard it; then his mouth was back on hers, hot and insistent, as his hands went to tug at her camisole. 

It wasn’t long before all of their clothes were on the floor and Jemma was pulling Fitz on top of her, sighing as their bodies met and he settled between her thighs. He still treated her with care, kissing her and moving against her with a reverence and a passion that took her breath away. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the pleasure, letting Fitz love her wholly and fully, reaffirming their commitment to each other through this one act. He still knew all the places that made her gasp and moan, and he teased them all out with hands and lips and body until she cried out in bliss.

Later, as they laid together on the messy sheets while their heartbeats slowed, Jemma thought that she hadn’t felt this peaceful or content in ages. Drowsy, sated, happy to lie in Fitz’s arms for the rest of the day if he’d let her, she murmured, “I love you.”

She felt him tilt his head to look down at her, and a second later he kissed the top of her head. “I love you, too,” he replied back quietly, and gave her hand a squeeze where he was holding it against his bare chest. “Always.”

Jemma smiled to herself and snuggled deeper into his side. She would never let herself forget that again. With her newfound security, their rededication to openness, and the absence of his father, perhaps they could work on her issues with the public’s need to compare her to Ophelia and put everything else behind them. Now they could both truly be happy, together.

-:- 

By the time they finally dragged themselves out of bed and redressed in their pajamas, it was almost noon. They went downstairs to the kitchen, where Fitz announced that he was going to make them pancakes. “Sit,” he told her, pointing to one of the stools at the island. “I want to do this for you. You deserve it. Besides, I make really good pancakes.”

Jemma did as she was told, happy to sit and watch Fitz putter around the kitchen. He looked so relaxed, more so than he had done in ages. He was smiling as he gathered together the ingredients to make pancakes from scratch, pulling down a bowl from the cupboard and fishing out a whisk from the drawer, and it was so encouraging to see. Jemma wondered if he might look this way more often from here on out, now that they had pledged to be more open with each other. 

Fitz was cracking an egg open into his flour mixture when Jemma’s phone, which she’d set on the island in front of her and promptly forgotten about, buzzed. Smiling at the back of his head, she reached for her phone to check her notifications.

It was a text from Daisy. She tapped into her phone to read it.

_[Daisy]: uhhhhh have you seen this??_

The text was followed by a link to the _Daily Mail_. Jemma clicked on it, and was met with an article with the bold headline _Ophelia Fitz Death Shocker—It Wasn’t An Accident! Leo Fitz’s Dad Tells All In Explosive New Interview._

The smile disappeared from her face as her blood ran cold. Not an accident? Was Alistair implying that Fitz had a hand in Ophelia’s death…?

She looked up at him. He was stirring the pancake batter with a whisk, completely unconcerned. Fitz had said he’d hated Ophelia, yes, but not _that_ much. He was a kind man, despite the grumpiness he liked to put on display. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. There was no way this article was true.

She looked back down at her phone. “Fitz,” she said, her voice sounding hollow, “Can you please come look at this?”

“Hmm?” Glancing up, Jemma saw him look over his shoulder at her. Something in her face must have caught his attention, because he immediately set down his whisk and bowl and came around the island to join her. “What’s wrong?” he asked, but she simply nodded down at her phone. He leaned down to read it, and she watched as his face drained of color.

“That fucking bastard,” he whispered, his eyes going hard. 

“What’s this about?” Jemma asked, still watching him. 

Fitz straightened up and turned away, clenching his fists. “Unbelievable… fucking miserable waste of space, I can’t believe he—” He slammed a fist down on the island countertop, making Jemma’s phone rattle. “I’m going to kill him!”

That was probably not the best thing to say given the content of the _Mail_ article, but Jemma managed not to say anything about it. Instead, she said, “Fitz, please—what’s going on?!”

He shook his head, his back still to her, and took one sharp step forward towards the stairs, then stopped and turned back around, going for the far side of the island, where his phone sat. “I need to call my solicitor.”

“Fitz!” Jemma cried. “Tell me what the hell is going on! What is this article about?”

Fitz finally stopped, halfway around the island, and turned to her, pinching the bridge of his nose. “My father was blackmailing me,” he sighed, though his expression was furious. “He was on hard times and came here after Ophelia died, demanding a place to stay and a monthly stipend. He said if I didn’t give it to him, he’d go to the press and tell them Ophelia’s death wasn’t an accident, that I killed her.”

Jemma’s jaw dropped slightly.

Fitz shook his head again and dragged his hand down his face. “He threatened it again last night when I chucked him out, but I was so angry I didn’t care.” He looked down at her phone. “Looks like he called my bluff.”

Jemma sighed, her shoulders slumping. All she wanted was peace and happiness with her husband, but the universe couldn’t even grant them that. She couldn’t even begin to grasp the potential fallout of this bombshell. Would there be an enquiry? Unending questions from the press? Public harassment? Would she lose Fitz for good?

Fitz was watching her now. “Do you believe him?”

“No, of course not.” Jemma scoffed and straightened up, looking at him. “You said he’s a compulsive liar, so obviously he’s lying now. But it’s terrible! I can’t—I can’t even fathom…” She gestured uselessly at her phone, completely horrified and at a loss. “Even though it’s untrue, it’s out in the world now and the damage is done. What are we going to do?”

“It’s libel, is what it is,” Fitz said sharply. “ _Fuck_. I really need to call my solicitor so we can get this taken down. You’re right, it’s out, but maybe we can at least stop some of the spread.”

“And I need to text Daisy back,” Jemma sighed, reaching for her phone. “If I don’t reply soon, she’ll start worrying and text repeatedly until I answer.” Looking at the phone screen, she groaned to see that she’d missed a text from her mum. “Oh, no. My parents have seen it. My mum’s having a fit.”

Fitz had picked up his phone as well and was scrolling through it with a deep frown on his face. “My mum as well. Bloody hell, she’s losing her mind. And I’ve got the company board up my arse, too. They want to meet to discuss damage control. Christ, this is awful.” He wilted against the counter, looking wholly aggrieved. “I’ll go in, but I’m getting my damn pancakes first.”

Jemma slid off her stool and came around the island to join him, reaching up to gently press her hands to his chest. “Do you want me to make them?” she asked. “Give you a moment to sit down, maybe breathe and think through it a bit?”

Fitz passed a hand over his eyes and sighed, then gave her a weary smile. “Thanks, but no. I’ll make them. It’ll give me something to do, keep me busy. I don’t really _want_ to think right now.”

She gave him a small smile in return. “As long as you’re sure,” she said, and went up on her toes to place a kiss on his forehead.

Fitz’s smile was a little more genuine when she stepped back, soft and fond as he looked at her. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured.

Jemma tilted her head as she slid one of her hands up to tenderly cup his jaw. “It’s not about deserving,” she told him. “I chose you. And I’ll be here to support you through all of this, through thick and thin.” Her smile widened. “I took my marriage vows very seriously.”

Fitz’s face brightened happily, as though her reassurance was something he sorely needed, and he stepped forward to pull her into a firm, passionate kiss. It made her head spin, and she had to cling to his shoulders when her knees went a little weak. When he finally stepped back, he didn’t look as gloomy as he had just a few minutes before. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s see about those pancakes.”

While Fitz cooked, Jemma resolutely did not look at her phone. She didn’t want to doomscroll on Twitter or see any more articles calling her husband a killer. It helped to keep the panic at bay, at least a little bit. Fitz had a nice stack of fluffy pancakes and two mugs of tea ready for them in short order, and they settled down into the window booth to eat their breakfast the way they’d originally intended to—together, with smiles, as unconcerned with the outside world as possible.

Once they were done eating, Fitz went to go get dressed so he could meet with LJF Tech’s board of directors. He left Jemma with a tight hug and a lingering kiss, promising to come back home as soon as he could. “I don’t know how long this will take, but… well, you saw it. It’s a disaster.’ He sighed and palmed her cheek, leaning in for one last, brief kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she murmured as he turned to walk to the front door.

She went to the front windows in the sitting room to peek through the curtains and watch him go down the front steps to the street. There was already a small crowd of press and paparazzi gathered on the pavement outside the front gate, and they immediately swarmed Fitz as he walked to his car. Jemma felt her heart twist in sympathy, wishing there was something she could do for him, but Fitz kept his chin high and made it to his car with minimal cost to his person.

She only breathed a sigh of relief when Fitz started the car and pulled away from the curb, leaving the crowd behind. They didn’t leave, of course; they’d set up camp in case she decided to leave the house or someone else came by to visit, and for when Fitz returned. The sight threatened to give her a headache, but there was very little she could do about it. It was, as she’d learned, part and parcel of being married to one of the most well-known men in Britain.

Turning away from the windows to go flop down on the sofa, Jemma looked down at her phone in her hands and decided it was time to call Daisy. She sighed as she swiped into her contact list and hit Daisy’s number.

She answered on the second ring. “Jemma? Hello? Okay, so what the fuck is going on? Fitz’s dad is saying he killed Ophelia?!”

Daisy certainly wasn’t wasting any time. Jemma took a breath to center herself. “Yes, he’s saying that, but he’s lying,” Jemma said, rubbing her forehead tiredly.

“Is he? Okay, good, I believe you.” Daisy huffed. “But why is he doing this?”

“He was blackmailing Fitz,” Jemma explained, staring sightlessly at the telly in front of her, which was playing old episodes of _The Great British Bake Off._ “He wanted a place to stay and money and said if Fitz didn’t provide, he’d go to the press with this mad story.”

“And Fitz went along with it?”

“Yes, until last night. Then he was so angry over—well, see, his father was deliberately trying to sabotage our marriage.”

“Oh, shit,” Daisy swore softly. “How?”

Jemma sighed again, feeling vestiges of her hurt and pain swirl back up in her chest. “He was telling me untrue things about Fitz, about Fitz and Ophelia specifically, and it seeded a lot of doubt,” she said. “It made me believe Fitz didn’t love me.”

“So that’s where it all came from.” Daisy sounded sad. “Jem, I’m so sorry.”

“That, and everyone going on about how wonderful she was and all that,” Jemma said. “Anyway, Fitz kicked his father out. He threatened to go to the press again with those lies, but Fitz was so angry he didn’t care. But, you see. He did it.”

She heard Daisy sigh. “Damn. Again, I’m sorry. This is a disaster.”

“You’re so right there.” Jemma sank even deeper into the sofa cushions. “There’s a whole crowd of press camped outside and I’m not sure I even want to _think_ about what social media looks like right now. I’ve been avoiding it. Never been so glad I turned off my notifications.”

“Yeah, about that.” She could practically hear Daisy wince. “I might be taking care of that for you.”

“Oh?” Jemma winced in return, her voice going a bit squeaky. “How bad is it?”

“Well…” Daisy sighed. “Half the world seems to be convinced they knew Fitz was a killer this whole time, while the other half thinks his dad is just a drunken loser looking for his fifteen minutes of fame.”

“Spot on,” Jemma muttered, though it was very disheartening to hear that so many people wanted to believe the worst of Fitz. Even worse, there was very little any of them could do about it. As she’d told Fitz, the damage was done.

“What are you guys going to do?” Daisy asked.

Jemma rubbed her forehead again. “Fitz has gone to go meet with the board of directors of the company to do damage control,” she said. “And I think he’s meeting with his solicitor as well. I’m not sure what more he can do beyond that legally unless the police believe there’s enough to open an enquiry. Which, god, I hope there’s not. That would be awful. Fitz doesn’t need the stress.” She thought of Ophelia’s embezzlement from the company on top of this and sincerely hoped the former wasn’t brought to light right now as well. That would only make things worse for him. 

“So are you guys okay? Really?” Daisy asked, sounding cautious.

This, at least, brought a small smile to Jemma’s face. “We are,” Jemma said. “Like I said, it was just horrible miscommunication. Mostly Fitz’s father and his lies, but also my own insecurity and Fitz hiding that he didn’t care for Ophelia. We’re… working on it.” Her smile widened slightly. “Honestly, clearing up the miscommunication solved most of it.”

“That really makes me happy to hear. I really mean that,” Daisy said. “I knew something wasn’t right. But at least you two are okay with each other now to deal with this. You’re gonna need it.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jemma sighed, sobering up again as she thought of all the press gathered outside. “We really are.”

-:-

Several hours passed. Jemma had a very fraught phone conversation with her mum, who was extremely distressed to see her son-in-law being called a killer in the press and was apparently fielding calls and texts from concerned friends and busybodies. Her dad was worried, too. Jemma supposed they couldn’t be blamed; her parents still hadn’t met Fitz yet as they hadn’t had time to go up to Sheffield. But she did her best to reassure her mum that everything was fine and that no, in fact Fitz had _not_ killed his first wife.

She had a light lunch, unable to stomach much, before going back to the sofa to distract herself with more mindless telly while mostly worrying about Fitz. He hadn’t texted, which didn’t surprise her, but she still wondered what he was getting up to with the board of directors and what plans they were making, what steps they were taking to mitigate the damage Alistair had done.

As a result, it came as a relief when she heard a mild uproar rise from the press camped outside the house. Getting up from the sofa, Jemma went to the windows and peeked through the curtains to see them swarming Fitz’s car, which had just parked at the curb. She held her breath as she watched him battle his way through them, dodging and ducking cameras and microphones, until he made it through the front gate. Then she went to the front door to meet him.

“I fucking hate the press,” he announced with feeling, as soon as he had the door closed and locked, his back pressed to it.

He looked like he’d aged years over the course of the day, tired and haggard. Jemma’s heart went out to him, and she came forward to wrap her arms around him and press herself to him in a warm hug. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “Was it that bad? Do you want to talk about it?”

She winced as she asked, her old fear of rejection bubbling up, but forced herself to stay steady. She had no reason to think he would turn her away now.

Fortunately, she was right. Fitz wrapped his arms around her in turn and gave her a hard squeeze. “I’ll tell you about it. But first, I want a beer and my bed. In that order.”

Jemma went upstairs to meet Fitz in their room, needlessly adjusting the sheets and pillows on the bed for him. He appeared a moment later with a bottle of Benderry’s and his shoes kicked off, and took one long pull of his drink before setting it down on the side table, then flopped down on the bed with a dramatic sigh. “So, tell me about your day,” he said.  
  
Jemma came to sit down on the bed next to him. “There’s not much to tell. I mostly hid on the sofa and tried to watch _Bake Off._ I talked to Daisy and my mum.”

“Oh?” Fitz’s eyes were closed, his ankles crossed. “What’d your mum say?”

Jemma bit her lip. “She’s worried you’re a murderer.”

He blinked his eyes back open, staring straight ahead. “Oh,” he said again. “Well. Can’t really fault her for that, I guess.” He looked up at her and put an arm out, inviting her next to him. “C’mere.” Jemma smiled and stretched out to snuggle up against him, and he sighed. “So company stock fell several points with the publication of the article and the public’s response to it.”

“Oh no,” Jemma breathed, curling her hand into the fabric of his dress shirt.

“Yeah. Nothing catastrophic, but still a hit, to be sure. And Public Relations is going to release a statement going off the advice of my solicitor.” Fitz frowned. “The bad news is that the only real recourse for going after my father on a libel charge would require me to prove that his claims are false, and that… would likely involve an enquiry.”

Jemma nearly sat up in horror. “A statement from the Swiss authorities won’t be enough?” she asked. “Didn’t they determine her death was an accident?”

“Not when the accusation involves murder,” Fitz replied darkly, squeezing his arm around her shoulders to get her to relax against him again. “It’s ‘new information’ or some rubbish like that.” He sighed. “I really don’t want an enquiry. It would be long, stressful, and full of nothing but bad press for me, you, and the company. And I’m afraid it would bring the embezzlement to light. It would do so much more damage and I can’t see it as doing anything but being used against me as a motive—but I don’t know if I can avoid it. Any of it. Maybe I shouldn’t have kicked him out.”

He looked so tired and worn, and it made Jemma’s heart hurt. “You did it to protect me,” she told him gently. “To protect _us_. I can’t blame you for that. Yes, this is terrible and I can’t imagine where we’ll go from here, but at least you’ve got me.” Fitz looked down at her, and she gave him a smile. “Through thick and thin. I know that as long as we’re together, everything will come out alright at the end.”

A small, pale smile ticked up the corners of Fitz’s mouth in return, and he picked up her hand that was resting on his chest to kiss the back of it. “You must think I’m so weak,” he said quietly.

Jemma’s jaw dropped slightly. “What? No. Why would I think that?”

He rolled his eyes a bit self-deprecatingly. “Blackmailed by my wife, blackmailed by my father… I’m a total pushover.”

Jemma’s heart twisted painfully in her chest as she thought of what Fitz had been put through. “No. No, not at all,” she told him softly. “You were taken advantage of by people who should have cared about you. You have a good and kind heart and they just trampled all over it.” She pressed a gentle kiss to his jaw. “But I promise I will _never_ do that to you. You’re safe with me.” 

Fitz squeezed her hand in his and turned his face to kiss her forehead. “Thanks, Jemma,” he murmured, and his voice was wobbly with quiet emotion. “That means a lot.”

-:-

On Monday morning, Jemma was assaulted by a feeling of deja vu as she rode the Tube to work. She had the feeling that everyone around her was staring again, or at the very least stealing glances. It felt like they all knew she was Jemma Simmons-Fitz, married to Leo Fitz, and they were wondering if he had really killed Ophelia. They were all judging Fitz, and thus her as well. 

She’d stayed off her phone for the rest of the weekend except to text Daisy, her mum, and Fitz’s mum, keeping them updated on everything, but aside from that she avoided social media entirely. She didn’t want to see what people were saying, and she didn’t want Fitz to see how it was affecting her. If she felt bad, she could only imagine how much worse it was for him. This was his life being called into question, with the company he’d built himself from the ground up at risk. She knew it was weighing heavily on him. 

It all left her twitchy and anxious, ready to get out of public view and to the safety of her lab.

“I’m surprised you showed up today,” Kenneth said as he breezed through the doors to their lab a few minutes after she did.

Jemma looked up from logging into her computer. “What do you mean?” she asked, at a loss. “Of course I’m here.”

Kenneth shrugged blithely as he set his bag down next to his station, not looking at her. “What I mean is, I’m just surprised Fitz hasn’t killed you yet. You know, with him being a wife killer and all.”

Jemma’s jaw dropped in shock. “What—I—I—how _dare_ you!” she cried in outrage. “He is _not_ a killer! Don’t tell me you’ve bought into all of that madness! I thought you _liked_ Fitz!”

Kenneth turned to give her a thin, wary look. “I did, until I found out he murdered Ophelia.”

“He did nothing of the sort,” Jemma snapped. “And I’ll thank you to keep your talk restricted to work topics only from here on out.” Standing, she marched past him and out into the hall.

“You’ve been brainwashed,” she heard Kenneth say behind her, but she ignored him and continued down the hall and around the corner until she reached their boss’ office. She rapped her knuckles twice on the closed door and waited until she heard Anne’s voice from within bid her to enter.

“Good morning, Anne,” Jemma said as she came in, her voice tight and clipped. “I’m afraid that I need to request an inter-division transfer or ask that Kenneth be moved to another lab.”

“Oh?” Anne swiveled away from her computer to face Jemma, her eyebrows raised. “And why is that?”

“I’m assuming you’ve seen the news regarding my husband?” Jemma asked.

Anne regarded Jemma for a moment before nodding. “Yes, I have. I’ve had a few voicemails from the press on my work line this morning.”

Jemma sighed in dismay, her eyes briefly falling shut. Of course the press would have come after her job. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “But as I was saying—Kenneth has decided to air some of his judgments regarding my husband and it’s created a hostile work environment. I can’t work with him anymore.”

“I see.” Anne nodded slowly. “I’ll see what I can do. As you know, these types of reassignments take time, so if you genuinely feel unsafe, it might be best if you just take the day off and go home. Check your email, and I’ll let you know when I have a new assignment for you.”

Jemma gave her a small smile. “Thank you.” She could tell her boss was curious and probably wanted to ask about the whole sordid deal, but was wisely keeping quiet. Thank goodness for that. She turned to leave and go collect her things from the lab.

Once she was back on the Tube headed home, she sent a text off to Fitz.

_[Jemma]: Headed home early today_

Fitz texted back almost immediately, which wasn’t unusual for so early in the day.

_[Fitz]: uh very early. everything okay?_

_[Jemma]: Kenneth was a complete and utter arse, I’ll explain later  
_ _[Jemma]: But don’t worry, I can use the time at home to work on all of those research proposals I’ve had just sitting around. It won’t be a total waste_

It was a few minutes before Fitz replied again.

_[Fitz]: I can only imagine what kind of wanker he was being_

Jemma bit back a smile. She was sure he could. Poor man.

_[Fitz]: but hey while you’re home, maybe see about getting someone over to replace the locks_

Jemma blinked, then nodded to herself. Given everything that was going on and how generally awful Alistair was, that was a very prudent idea. They didn’t need him barging back in at all hours. He was out of their lives now, physically at least, and needed to stay that way. She immediately switched over to her browser to start searching for locksmiths. 

It seemed like everyone had invited themselves into her and Fitz’s business; the very least they could ask was to be alone in their own home.


	18. Chapter 18

It had been a rather hellish week. The outcry over Alistair’s article in the _Mail_ was still going strong, with the public demanding answers. Fitz had refused to speak to the press outside of the release that his company had put out, but it had done little to assuage things. If anything, his silence was only feeding the flames of the public’s assumption of his guilt. Jemma hated it, but what was there to be done? It was, as Fitz had told her, Ophelia’s word against his in a way. And the public loved Ophelia far more than they did him.

Alistair, meanwhile, was loving his newfound fame and was speaking to any media outlet who would listen. _The Sun_ had run an interview where he went on at length about how ‘difficult’ Fitz had been as a child, which his mum had decried over the phone as rubbish, “seeing as the man left when Fitz was just ten!”

“It’s shameful,” Jemma told Jean. “The checkout girl at Waitrose had the audacity to ask me to my face if Fitz had killed Ophelia. She actually _asked_ me! I’ve never taken my groceries and run so fast in my life.” She frowned and paced another circuit in front of the telly in the sitting room. “I have half a mind to put in a complaint to the management.”

“I would,” Jean said. “No one has any call harassing you like that. It’s what you said: it’s shameful. They should mind their business and leave you alone.”

Jemma sighed and glanced at the small clock on the mantel. Fitz was due home from work any minute. “I just hope that eventually everyone will see Alistair for what he is: a sad, greedy man trying to make money by slandering his only child. He has no evidence! He’s just saying Fitz _told_ him everything. I can’t believe people are listening to him.”

“I know, love, I know,” Jean said reassuringly. “The truth will come out eventually. It always does with men like him. He’ll keep asking for more money and everyone will catch on to what he’s really after. Just give it time.”

Jemma could only hope that she was right.

Fitz had taken to working from home most days; it was just too much of a hassle for him to brave both the press and the public every day on his commute. He spent long hours on video calls with the department heads at the company going over the day’s business, but he also spent a lot of time on the sofa in the sitting room with his tablet, drawing. He told Jemma that one of the downsides to running a company as large as LJF Tech was that he no longer had as big a hand in concept development as he once did.

“It’s been nice to just sit and sketch,” he said one evening while they were lounging on the sofa with the telly on. He had his tablet in his lap, a few rudimentary drawings of a tracking device open. “I haven’t had the time to brainstorm like this in a while. Just wish it were under better circumstances.”

Jemma laid a hand on his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I know,” she murmured. “This isn’t exactly a holiday.”

“And I’m getting too much inside my own head, I think,” Fitz added, his face scrunching up. “I’m _thinking_ too much. I keep worrying that any second the police will come knocking to haul me in for questioning. I mean, I know I’m innocent.” His voice lowered, his chin sinking into his chest a bit. “I’m just waiting for everything I’ve built to come down around my ears. My life, the company. You.” His eyes slid toward her. “That would be Ophelia’s final revenge, wouldn’t it.”

Jemma leaned forward to carefully take the tablet and stylus from Fitz’s lap and set them on the coffee table; then she snuggled up against his side, draping her legs over his and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He gave her a small smile as he accepted her into his space, folding his arms around her in turn, and she smiled back.

“I think the fact that the police haven’t called yet is a good sign,” she said, kissing his cheek. “They know there’s nothing worth opening an enquiry for. I’m sure it’ll all blow all over soon. A new scandal will come along and people will forget all about this.”

Fitz’s strained expression told her he didn’t quite believe her. “Maybe, but like you said, the damage is done, yeah?” He looked at her with sad eyes. “Maybe there won’t be an enquiry, but I’ve already been tried in the court of public opinion. Now I’ll always be the man who _might_ have killed his wife.” 

Jemma didn’t have an answer for that, and it hurt. She wished she could take away all of Fitz’s pain and worry. But she knew that the best thing she could do to help him would be to continue to be there for him and support him, and love him to the best of her ability.

-:-

On Saturday afternoon, their front buzzer rang just as they were coming upstairs from lunch. “I swear, if that’s some reporter who’s decided to press their luck, I’m calling the police,” Fitz grumbled as he headed for the door. Jemma watched as he looked through the peephole, and then his entire posture relaxed. “ _Oh_. It’s just Mack.” 

He stepped back and undid the locks on the door to open it and admit his friend. “Hey, Turbo,” Mack said, coming inside with a wide smile. “I’m surprised you answered the door. You’ve got a whole crowd waiting outside.”

“Thought about ignoring it,” Fitz said as he got the door shut and locked again, but he was smiling now, which Jemma was thankful to see. “They didn’t give you any trouble, did they?”

Mack shook his head. “Nah, they weren’t going to bother me. But yeah, I had some business up on this end of town and thought I’d stop by and see how you guys were getting on.”

“We’d be much better if that lot out there would shove off,” Fitz said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the street and the press that were still camped out. “We just had lunch, but let me go downstairs and grab you a beer.” He stepped past them to go downstairs, leaving Mack and Jemma alone in the entryway. 

“How’s he really doing?” Mack asked quietly, once Fitz was out of earshot.

Jemma gave him a wry smile. “About as well as can be expected, given the circumstances,” she told him, going into the sitting room. Mack followed. “He’s keeping busy, which isn’t giving him much time to wallow. He’s still investigating his legal options, but none of it is looking good or easy.” She sighed and shrugged a little helplessly. “But he’s managing.”

Mack smiled at her in understanding. “You’re a good woman for sticking with him.”

“Of course I’m sticking with him.” Jemma tilted her head in confusion. “Why wouldn’t I?”

It was Mack who shrugged this time. “I’m just saying, other people might have turned tail and run after something like this.”

Jemma looked down as she thought about how she almost _had_ left—not for the murder accusations, of course, but because of her own doubts and insecurities. It left a bad taste in her mouth. 

“I almost _did_ leave,” she admitted quietly, looking back up at Mack. “Not for this, but… I was afraid I would never live up to the expectations that Ophelia left behind. I was afraid I wasn’t enough.” She smiled again, a small, quick smile. “But I know better now.”

Mack blinked at her, a look of surprise on his face. He opened his mouth, possibly to reply, but he was interrupted by Fitz coming back in carrying three open bottles of beer. “Here we go,” he said, handing two of them off to Mack and Jemma. “So how is everything in Croydon?”

“Good, good,” Mack replied, taking a long sip of his beer. “Keeping busy with the shop. And Elena’s keeping me on my toes, you know how she is.” He laughed. “But I’m more interested in hearing about how you’re doing.”

Fitz affected a too-casual shrug. “Eh, I’m alright,” he said. “I wish we had a better way to fight back against all this crap that didn’t involve enquiries and long, drawn-out legal proceedings. I’m tired of being constantly reminded of it all. Of _her._ ”

Mack nodded sagely. “I get it, man. You don’t want to be reminded because it’s difficult.”

Fitz stared at him for a long moment, then looked to Jemma. Then he inhaled. “Not in the way you think,” he said slowly. “I… I didn’t like Ophelia.” Mack turned to him with raised eyebrows and Fitz pressed his lips into a thin line. “ _We_ didn’t like each other,” he added. “Actually, we hated each other. Now, I just want to move on with my life with Jemma.” 

Jemma looked back and forth between Fitz and Mack, wondering how this revelation would fall. Mack just stared at Fitz, but finally he sighed. “I know,” he said.

Fitz blinked. “Pardon?”

Mack nodded, even as Jemma too blinked in shock. She hadn’t expected this response. “I know,” Mack repeated. “I know that you hated Ophelia. I’ve just been waiting for you to tell me.”

“Wh—well—what the hell,” Fitz spluttered in shock. “What do you mean, you’ve been waiting for me to tell you?”

Mack sighed again and took another sip of his beer. “It didn’t take me long to figure her out,” he explained. “But you were always so touchy about your private life that I left it alone. I figured you knew what you were doing. But then she got a little _too_ charming with me, you know? Coming on to me too strong. I think she was trying to use me to get leverage in your company. That’s why I left.”

Fitz’s jaw had dropped in horror. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” he demanded. 

Mack crossed his arms and leveled him with an even stare. “I didn’t know how you really felt about her yet. What was I supposed to do, tell you your new wife was sniffing around?”

“Actually, yes!” Fitz still looked outraged. “Christ, Mack. Maybe I could have done something about it.”

“I don’t know about that,” Mack replied. “You of all people know how she was. But anyway—it’s all in the past and I don’t hold any of it against you. I just don’t understand why you stayed with her.”

Fitz looked away, off to the side. “She was blackmailing me,” he muttered.

Mack sighed, as if that bit of information didn’t surprise him in the least. “Well, at least that’s over with now, to say the least. That part, anyway. And now you’ve got Jemma.” He looked at her and smiled. 

Fitz looked at her as well, his expression brightening, and the love in his eyes warmed Jemma through. “Yeah, I do,” he said, and she thought: with looks like that, how could she ever have doubted that he loved her?

-:-

In the middle of the following week, Jemma came home from work to hear Fitz’s faint voice floating up from downstairs. Curious, she left her bag in the sitting room and went to investigate. What she found wasn’t Fitz—not exactly—but Holden Radcliffe sitting in one of the plush armchairs in the lounge area adjacent to the kitchen, reading through some papers in his lap. The doors to the back garden were open, and Fitz was outside pacing back and forth in front of the patio furniture, talking on his phone. 

Radcliffe looked up as Jemma came down the stairs into the kitchen and smiled. “Hello, Jemma,” he greeted her cordially. “I expect you’re surprised to see me here.”

“I am, a bit,” Jemma replied, but she smiled warmly at him. “What brings you here?”

“Fitz and I were discussing some, ah, company business.” He nodded at the papers in his lap. “He told me that he’s filled you in on some of it?”

Jemma winced. “The embezzlement?” she asked delicately, coming to sit on the sofa across from him. 

Radcliffe nodded again and sighed. “Yes, that whole nasty business. We’ve nearly got everything sorted where we can prove Ophelia acted completely alone without any of Fitz’s knowledge. We want to make sure that when this comes to light, because it will, that Fitz is completely exonerated.”

Jemma nodded, feeling slightly nauseous at the thought of Fitz being caught up in a corporate scandal on top of everything else they were dealing with. “That’s good,” she said. “Right?”

Radcliffe nodded. “That’s our hope, yes.” Then he looked out toward Fitz in the back garden. “He’s on the phone with the Met right now.”

Jemma’s heart leapt into her throat. “About the embezzlement?”

“Oh!” Radcliffe shook his head. “No, no, I’m sorry. About the murder accusation from his father. I think they want him to come in.”

“Oh no,” Jemma murmured, looking outside toward Fitz. He was still pacing and looked stressed, but not as stressed as she expected he might be if he was definitely under investigation for murder. That was mildly comforting, at least. She was about to ask Radcliffe how long Fitz had been on the call when he pulled his phone away from his ear and thumbed at it, ending the conversation. 

“Good, you’re home,” Fitz sighed at Jemma as he came back inside. “Did he tell you who I was talking to?” He nodded at Radcliffe.

“The Met?” Jemma replied, trying not to sound too anxious.

Fitz nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. So here’s the thing: they’ve gotten enough blowback from the public over all of this that they feel they need to do _something_. They’ve been in touch with the Swiss authorities, and they both agree there isn’t enough from my father worth reopening the investigation.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Jemma asked, as Radcliffe nodded.

“Yeah. It is,” Fitz said. “The evidence at the scene and the testimony I gave at the time combined with the autopsy results made it clear that it was an accident. But they’re still inviting me to come in and take a statement just so they can say they’ve acted on it and put the whole thing to rest.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I said I’d come in tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll come with you,” Jemma said immediately.

Radcliffe straightened the papers in his lap and slipped them into a bag resting next to his armchair. “In that case, I should probably come as well.”

Fitz frowned. “Why is that?”

Radcliffe stood, picking the bag up. “Because I have pertinent information relating to the case that could help settle things once and for all.”

Fitz’s frown deepened, and he glanced at Jemma before turning back to his colleague. “Come again?”

“It had probably better wait until we’re all at the Met with the inspector.” Radcliffe smiled cryptically. “But Jemma’s home now, and I’ve taken up enough of your time today. What time is the meeting tomorrow?”

“Um, 9 a.m.,” said Fitz, who looked rather perplexed.

Radcliffe nodded. “I’ll meet up with you then. Jemma, it was lovely seeing you again.” He smiled at her and nodded at Fitz again before turning to go upstairs and see himself out, leaving Fitz and Jemma without a clue and entirely confused.

-:-

That night as they settled into bed together, Jemma brought the matter up again. “What on earth do you think Radcliffe was talking about?” she asked as she curled up against Fitz’s side. “What could he possibly know about Ophelia’s death that completely clears your name? He wasn’t there.”

“I don’t know,” Fitz murmured, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her in. “I know he and Ophelia used to be close. But we’ve become fairly good friends, too, especially through all of this investigation rot, and he’s never mentioned anything about it. I’m just as clueless as you are.”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” Jemma said, pressing her hand flat to his chest. The steady thump of his heartbeat gave her a sense of peace, of calm, that Fitz was alive right next to her and that everything would be alright. She had to believe that going into their meeting with the police; she still had the fear that everything could come crashing down and Fitz would be formally charged with Ophelia’s murder. 

He was innocent. She knew that. She just had to hope and pray that the police would continue to believe that, too. 


	19. Chapter 19

The next morning, Fitz and Jemma showed up outside the Met well ahead of their nine o’clock appointment time. There they met with Fitz’s solicitor, a quiet, taciturn man named Enoch Coltrane. Radcliffe arrived a few minutes later; introductions were made, handshakes were exchanged, and then they all turned to go inside.

Jemma tried her best not to show her nerves. All Fitz was doing was giving a statement. He wasn’t being formally questioned and he wasn’t going to be taken away from her in handcuffs. That was the plan, at least—but Radcliffe was the wild card who had the potential to upset everything. The information he claimed to have on Ophelia was making her burn with curiosity. What could he possibly know, and why had he stayed quiet for so long? The fact that it was an unknown quantity was what had her so worried. There was no way of telling whether or not what he had to say would help Fitz or harm him. All they had was his word.

But Fitz trusted Radcliffe, so Jemma supposed she had no choice but to put her faith in him as well.

Inside, their group was shown to the office of Fitz’s contact at the Met, a middle-aged man with silver hair and a pleasant face who introduced himself as Detective Inspector Lestrade. “Sorry again for the inconvenience, Mr. Fitz,” he said as everyone took a seat. “I know all of this fuss can’t be easy for you, especially with, well, your new wife.” He nodded at Jemma with an apologetic smile. “I want to make it clear that this is just a formality. We all know you’re innocent here.”

Jemma breathed a silent sigh of relief and, glancing aside, thought she saw Fitz do the same. There was that, at least—confirmation that the police knew he was innocent. It was a mark in their favor and one good thing to soothe her nerves.

“Understood,” Fitz said. “Thank you.”

Lestrade nodded and shuffled some papers on his desk. “Right, so. Down to business.” Finding whatever it was he wanted in his paper pile, he leaned back in his seat and looked at Fitz. “You were on holiday in Switzerland with your wife—first wife, sorry—when the accident occurred?”

Fitz nodded as well, the motion stiff. “Right. One of the ski resorts, Verbier.”

“Can you go through what happened?”

Fitz nodded again, slowly. “It was the off season, but Ophelia wanted to go up the mountain for some photos. We got into an argument over… over something really stupid. She wanted me to be in some of the photos and I didn’t.” He glanced over at Jemma. “I’m not much of a photo person.”

Lestrade cracked a smile. “You’re in the press enough. Or you were.”

Fitz’s returning smile was thin. “Evils of the job. And that was mostly her. Anyway, we argued and I went ahead of her on the trail to cool off. She followed me and we argued some more. Then she said she was going to go back down to the chalet and left. She was gone for a minute, maybe two when I heard a shout and sliding rocks. I turned to look and she was—gone. I went searching and that’s when I found her. She’d fallen off the path and down a ravine. I—I panicked and tried to run for help, but it was too late. By the time help arrived, she was dead. Blunt force trauma to the head.”

Watching him, Jemma saw that Fitz’s face had gone pale and he was gripping the armrests of his chair tightly, and she wondered how much of it was an act for the detective’s sake or natural reactions easy to misunderstand, the way she’d initially done. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was being genuine; Fitz might not have any love lost for Ophelia, but she was still a human being who’d died in his presence. That would be enough to rattle anyone. They were just fortunate Fitz’s reaction worked in his favor.

“And this is what you told the Swiss authorities, yes?” Lestrade asked.

“Yes,” Fitz replied. “It’s all on record.”

Lestrade hummed and sat up to consult the open file on his desk. “Right, thank you. It matches what I’ve got here. We’ve been in contact with your father in an attempt to get his side of the story—just in the interest of being thorough, you understand—and he’s refused to come in. All we’ve got is what he told the _Mail_. It doesn’t exactly make him look good.” He grinned again, which got a small smile out of Fitz, and then he nodded at Radcliffe. “Now, Mr. Fitz says you’ve got information pertaining to the case?”

Radcliffe, who was sitting on Enoch’s far side, perked up a bit and cleared his throat, nodding. “I do,” he said. “And I’m afraid there’s nothing else for it except to be blunt, so—” He leaned forward to look down the row toward Fitz. “Ophelia was planning to end her life.”

The entire room went still as everyone, even the unflappable Enoch, stared at Radcliffe in shock. The very thought of beautiful, vivacious Ophelia, who had everything going for her—even knowing what Jemma knew now—choosing to end her own life was preposterous. Surely Radcliffe was having them on.

“Come again?” Lestrade asked in disbelief, finding his voice first. Fitz was still staring at Radcliffe with his mouth hanging slightly open, words apparently still beyond him.

Radcliffe nodded solemnly, holding up his phone. “She told me so herself. I still have the texts exchanged between us confirming it. She’d been diagnosed with an inoperable brain aneurysm that was in danger of going at any time. I…” He glanced at Fitz. “I was the only person she told.”

“ _What_?” Fitz finally managed, looking gobsmacked.

“You do realize I’m going to need to see that phone, to verify the texts,” Lestrade said seriously, ignoring Fitz.

Radcliffe nodded. “Of course.” He leaned forward to pass his phone over.

“So _that’s_ why she was pursuing the Framework,” Fitz murmured to himself.

This put everyone’s attention back on Fitz. “The what?” Lestrade asked. Jemma, meanwhile, sat up a little straighter in her seat. This must be the dodgy research Ophelia had been working on, she realized.

Fitz looked briefly to both Enoch and Radcliffe before giving Lestrade his full attention. “The Framework,” he repeated. “It was some… very speculative research she was funding beneath the table. She wanted to create a perfect, robust simulation of the real world that was capable of hosting a person or persons’ consciousness and extend their lives indefinitely as a result.”

Lestrade’s eyebrows had gone up into his hairline. “What now?” he asked with a short laugh. “That doesn’t sound real at all, it sounds ridiculous.” 

Jemma wanted to agree with him—a virtual world the likes of which Fitz had just described sounded impossible—but Fitz only inclined his head, looking grim. “It was extremely advanced tech, and it would have created a firestorm of ethics and morality if news of it had gotten out. That’s why it was all done under the table. I had nothing to do with it, and Radcliffe and I only discovered its existence after she died. We found she’d been embezzling money from our company to fund it.”

Lestrade leaned back in his chair again, turning Radcliffe’s phone over in his hands. “This technically gives you a motive, you know that, right? You could just be saying you discovered the embezzlement after she died. If you’d found out before, you’d have every reason to push her down that ravine and make it look like an accident.”

Jemma’s heart jumped into her throat. “But you’ve got the texts right there,” she said, unable to keep quiet. 

“The diagnosis wasn’t what drove her to work on the project, I believe,” Radcliffe cut in, his expression heavy. “It’s what caused her to make the decision to end her life. She had no guarantee that she could finish the Framework and save herself before her time ran out. The documents we found indicated there was still a great deal of work left to do on the project. And, as she told me, her diagnosis was at odds with the core tenets of transhumanism, which she believed in deeply. It wasn’t something that technology could solve.”

“So you’re saying Ophelia wanted to commit suicide,” Lestrade said, looking thoughtful. “But how does that change what happened in Switzerland?”

Radcliffe gestured to his phone in the other man’s hands. “It’s in the texts. She told me she was planning something for their holiday. She didn’t give specifics, just said that it would ‘make a splash’ and would let her go out her own way. I tried to discourage her, to get her to tell me more, but she wouldn’t answer me.”

“Why did you never say anything?” Fitz asked. 

To the casual observer he sounded almost betrayed and he would have had every right to be: a close colleague and friend had kept hidden personal information about his wife that Fitz could have possibly used to save her, or persuade her to stay. At the very least, it was juicy gossip and Lestrade was clearly doing his best to maintain an air of neutrality. 

Radcliffe just gave a sad little shrug. “I wanted to honor her wishes to keep the diagnosis quiet,” he replied simply. “And when you didn’t come under any suspicion for her death, there didn’t seem to be any point. But I _am_ sorry for keeping it from you.”

Lestrade was looking at Radcliffe’s phone now, his finger swiping repeatedly across the screen; Jemma guessed he was going through the texts. “Can you confirm that this is Ophelia’s phone number, please?” he asked Fitz, holding the phone out. 

Fitz took it from him; one quick glance and he nodded, passing the phone back over. “It’s hers,” he confirmed.

Lestrade sighed and set the phone down on top of his open case file. “I can understand you wanting to keep the dodgy research and the embezzlement quiet, but it’ll come up in the next company audit, yeah?”

“It will,” Enoch spoke up. “I’ve already explained to Fitz that there will be little he can do to keep it from the public’s knowledge then.”

“And there will definitely have to be an investigation then,” Lestrade added. “Ophelia Sarkissian, an embezzler. Huh. Never would have expected that.”

“She was a lot of things you wouldn’t expect,” Fitz muttered darkly.

Lestrade watched him for a minute, then sighed again before picking Radcliffe’s phone back up and handing it to its owner. “Well, none of this settles one way or the other if what happened in Verbier was an accident or deliberate, but none of it was you, and it’s a compelling story, I’ll give you that,” he said. “I’ll put it on our record, but I don’t think it’s anything worth contacting the lads in Switzerland over as it’s not criminal in nature. Is that all?”

Everyone looked around at each other. Radcliffe nodded. Fitz, still looking rather shocked, nodded as well. Satisfied, Lestrade pressed his hands flat to his desk. “Well, that’s that, then. Thanks for coming in, everyone.”

He stood, and everyone followed. Handshakes were exchanged and Lestrade promised to keep in touch should anything else arise. Then, one by one, they filed out of the office and through the building, back outside.

“I feel that I should apologize again,” Radcliffe said, once they were on the pavement bordering the street, facing Victoria Embankment and the Thames. His hands were in his trouser pockets, and he looked vaguely shamefaced. “For not telling you what I knew. You know I used to be quite close to Ophelia once—it was my way of protecting what used to be, I suppose. And I wasn’t sure if you knowing would have made a difference. But I never wanted to let you down.”

Fitz nodded, his own hands stuffed in his pockets, and chewed his lip. “I understand, I think,” he said, and looked up at his friend. “I mean, it wouldn’t have changed how I felt about her. You know that.”

Radcliffe smiled thinly. “I know.”

Jemma realized then that Radcliffe was perhaps one of the only other people who had known the true Ophelia. She thought of how he’d told her once that kindness and sincerity meant more than any amount of charitable giving; hindsight told her now that Radcliffe had been trying to reassure her of her place in Fitz’s life, that Ophelia had meant nothing to him. She’d just been too blind to see it at the time.

“No hard feelings,” Fitz said, and reached out to put a hand on Radcliffe’s shoulder. “Really. I mean… you know how she was.” Radcliffe nodded. “It was just a surprise. She never let on to any of it.”

“No, I don’t expect she did,” Radcliffe replied wryly. “She did love to be dramatic.” He sighed, then gave Fitz a more genuine smile. “Anyway, I’d best be off. I’ll see you on call tomorrow morning.”

“Right,” Fitz said. “See you.”

They watched him turn and head away down the pavement in the direction of the Westminster Tube station. There was a sense of finality to seeing his slight figure growing smaller as he disappeared into the crowd, like a chapter ending in a book. Jemma waited until she couldn’t see him anymore, then looked at Fitz and Enoch. “So what now?” she asked.

Enoch folded his hands in front of him. “My advice to you both,” he said, “is to take a long vacation. Go somewhere far away and remote and lie low for a little while. Wait for things to settle down here. There will be something new to grab the public’s attention in no time. Radcliffe and I can watch over the company while you’re gone.”

Fitz turned to Jemma with a small smile and a considering tilt to his eyebrows. “What do you think?” he asked. “Time for that honeymoon I promised you?”

Jemma smiled back, a light and cautious hope settling in her chest, and stepped in closer to him, linking her hands around the crook of his elbow. “I think so, yes.”

Enoch inclined his head in approval, and Fitz’s smile brightened. “Good,” he said. “Start thinking of some places you might want to go. Anywhere you want. I’ll come up with some places to run by you, too.” Turning to Enoch, he said, “We’ll be in touch, yeah?”

Enoch nodded again. “Certainly.”

They went their separate ways, Fitz and Jemma walking hand-in-hand down the pavement in the direction Radcliffe had gone, headed for the Tube and then home. “Any early ideas?” Fitz asked.

Jemma hummed, pretending to think it over. “Maybe one or two. Am I right to assume Switzerland is off-limits?”

Fitz actually laughed, surprising her. “I’ll take you to Switzerland if you really want to go, but I’m not sure it really meets Enoch’s suggestion of ‘remote.’”

Jemma laughed, too. “Some parts of it could, I’m sure. But I take your point.”

They tossed a few ideas back and forth until they were seated on the Tube and Jemma heard her phone buzz in her bag. Taking it out, she thumbed the screen to see that it was a text from Daisy.

_[Daisy]: good news! you know that hashtag i told you i was trying to get going for fitz to counteract all the shit? it’s trending in london! it’s a small start but it’s something! go go go #fitzisfine!!_

Attached was a cropped screenshot of the trending topics on Daisy’s Twitter app. Jemma smiled at it, recalling how her friend had said she was more than free to view the hashtag as a complimentary double entendre on her husband if she wished to. Mostly, she was just touched and glad that Daisy was willing to be proactive to fight back against the backlash on social media when she herself was still avoiding it.

“Look at this,” she murmured to Fitz, leaning into his shoulder and tilting her phone toward him so he could see the screen. He leaned back into her to peer down, and she smiled when she saw him fondly roll his eyes—no doubt at the hashtag, which had made him snort the first time she’d shown it to him.

“Good for her,” he said, and gave her knee a brief, warm squeeze. It was the most affection he dared give her on the Tube, liking to keep things private, but it buoyed her heart immensely. She knew Fitz was glad to see it, and just as thankful as she was for Daisy’s support. More than that, it gave her hope for their future. Maybe public opinion really was beginning to turn in Fitz’s favor, and taking some time out of the public eye would help that along. They could have a reset. Meanwhile, something else would come along, just like Enoch had said, and everyone’s attention would be caught by the next new scandal. Then she and Fitz could resume their lives in peace. Together, in love and happy, finally on the same page, where they were always meant to have been.

Free from Ophelia.

Jemma smiled to herself and leaned a little more into Fitz’s side. Some time away from London was exactly what they needed. 


	20. Chapter 20

Out in the Indian Ocean, on the North Island of the Seychelles, Fitz and Jemma were settling into the villa that would be their home for the next two weeks.

They’d taken an evening flight out of London, sat through layovers in Frankfurt and Addis Ababa, and finally landed on the main island of Mahé early the following afternoon. A helicopter ride followed, as that was the only accessible way to North Island, which made Jemma feel exceedingly posh and rich. She had to remind herself that she _was_ now, but Fitz kept her grounded by going on about the specifications of the helicopter they were flying in and pointing out other islands visible in the distance as they flew over the water.

Which brought them to their villa. Jemma had suggested the Seychelles as a destination for their honeymoon hideaway, but it was Fitz who found North Island. An ultra-exclusive resort, there were only eleven villas on the entire island and all of them were secluded, nestled back amongst the island’s natural vegetation just a few steps from the pristine white beach and crystal-clear blue ocean. Jemma was in awe of the construction and decor: thatched roofs, natural reclaimed wood beams and flooring, exotic lighting, plush furniture, the rooms all opened up to the warm sea air. It was beautiful, paradise, and more than a bit fairytale. She couldn’t believe that she was getting to spend an extended holiday here with Fitz, just the two of them.

She finished hanging up the last of their clothes in the bedroom’s wardrobe and set their suitcases out of the way, then looked around for Fitz. She found him in the next room over—the bathroom—inspecting the large sunken soaking tub that faced the open wall looking out toward the ocean.

“Isn’t this where William and Kate had their honeymoon?” she asked, leaning against one of the thin wooden beams that marked the entrance to the bathroom.

“I don’t know,” Fitz replied, standing up from where he’d been crouched next to the tub’s faucets. “I don’t keep up with that crap.”

Jemma grinned and stepped forward, her hand trailing over the gauzy mosquito-net curtains that were pulled back to open the room to the outside. “Not that I’m complaining, because this place is _gorgeous_ , but—I thought you would have picked somewhere a little more, well, _enclosed_.” She tilted her head at him. “We’re meant to be hiding, yeah?”

Fitz snorted softly and walked around the tub to join her, taking her hands and giving them a squeeze and a little swing. “Jemma, people pay good money to come here and get away from other people. No one’s going to be looking for us. You can rent out the whole island to yourself, remember?”

“I do.” Jemma’s smile widened teasingly. “But you thought that would be a bit much.”

Fitz nodded with a smile. “More than a bit. Are we all settled in?”

“We are.” This time it was Jemma who swung their hands back and forth. “Ready to properly start our honeymoon?”

Fitz pulled her forward to give her a soft kiss. “Absolutely.”

First, they went for a barefoot walk on the beach. There was no one else in sight, and the sense of being completely alone on a deserted tropical beach after the crowded bustle of London was an almost dizzying contrast. But it filled Jemma with a sense of peace. Walking slowly hand-in-hand with Fitz with the sand squishing between their toes and the surf lapping at their feet, far away from the prying eyes of society, gave her a feeling of rightness. This was the perfect place for them to take some time to rest, heal all the hurts in their relationship, and start fresh. They didn’t have anything else to worry about except themselves. 

After spending a few hours on the beach strolling and talking and enjoying the beautiful scenery, they went back to their villa and had an early dinner catered in from the resort’s main spa and dining club. Then they cuddled up on the oversized divan in the bedroom to watch the brilliant sunset light up the sky in brilliant tones of red and orange. Soft words led to searching kisses and wandering hands, and then Fitz was picking her up to carry her to the bed.

He made slow, passionate love to her, his touches and movements careful and reverent, the setting sun painting his skin gold. He held her as she came, whispering praise and endearments to her while he continued to rock into her, and Jemma felt like the center of his universe.

After, they laid together beneath the white cotton sheets of their bed, watching the last dying rays of the sun filter through the mosquito net canopy that covered it. Jemma was in her customary spot with her head pillowed on Fitz’s shoulder, listening to his heartbeat slow while her fingers drew slow nonsense shapes on his bare chest.

“I’m glad we’re taking this time away,” she murmured after some time, once the sun had sunk below the horizon and the only light came from a few warm, dim lamps around the room. The growing darkness had closed in on the open walls of the villa, creating a sense of intimacy.

“Yeah?” Fitz replied. His arm was around her, fingers trailing up and down her back, and his lips were pressed to her hairline.

“Not just to get away from London and everyone,” she said. “But for us. I think this will be really good for us. It’s not New York, but… I already feel so much better. I feel like I have room to remember everything you mean to me.”  
  
Fitz shifted to wrap both of his arms around her and kiss her forehead. “I feel like I should be constantly groveling at your feet, begging forgiveness for getting so caught up in my work that I didn’t notice you were hurting,” he said. “I love you. You’re my whole world. I’ll tell you every minute if I have to.”

“Some of the fault is mine, too,” Jemma reminded him. “I could have talked to you.”

“Still.”

She dropped a kiss on his chest and pulled herself even closer to him. “But anyway, what I mean to say is, all of that is in the past now. We can have a fresh start.” She pressed her hand flat to his chest. “We can put Ophelia behind us.”

“That we can,” Fitz replied quietly. Then he put a gentle finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up so he could look at her. When their eyes met, he smiled at her with eyes full of love before leaning down to kiss her, long and sweet.

Jemma took everything she could from it, relishing the fact that they were together, enjoying the dream honeymoon that they deserved, free from the past that had stood between them. They had a better understanding of each other now that all of their truths had been revealed, and she was confident that they could deal with anything that came their way in the future with honesty and transparency: a united front. A team. Their story may have started on a foundation of fast, drunk love, but now they had something better. Deeper. Something to really build a future on. And Jemma couldn’t wait to see what it would bring for them next. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end! Thank you for coming along on this ride with me, I've enjoyed getting your comments and feedback so much. For my next fics, I'm still working on Holidate, and I'm also working on a sequel to Mediterranean Holiday, so be on the lookout for those! In the meantime, come join me on Tumblr @ eclecticmuses, where I try to post more often than answering asks and posting fic chapters.

**Author's Note:**

> come visit me @ eclecticmuses on Twitter or Tumblr!


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